


If

by Laiquilasse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bonding, Claiming Bites, Drug Use, Dry Humping, Eventual Happy Ending, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mating Bites, Omega Sherlock, Omegaverse, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, References to Knotting, Sexual Content, Teen Sherlock, first heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:52:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 50,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8175791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laiquilasse/pseuds/Laiquilasse
Summary: John Watson knew his arrangement was due to come to fruition that year, so when he found an omega in his living room one afternoon, he wasn't entirely surprised. Except that said omega was young enough to still be in school, and hadn't even had his first heat yet.With John refusing to take advantage of Sherlock, the two of them begin a strange co-habitation somewhere between family and friends. But as Sherlock and John get older, and Sherlock begins to mature, will nature pull them together, or push them apart?





	1. Chapter 1

**If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;**  
**If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;**  
**If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster**  
**And treat those two impostors just the same…**

**_If_ ** **, Rudyard Kipling**

 

 

John found the boy waiting on the sofa in the lounge. He'd been expecting this to happen this year, so only did the smallest of double-takes at the stranger in his flat.

"Ok..." He set his briefcase down, taking off his coat and deciding to take this one moment at a time. "I suppose you know who I am?"

"John Hamish Watson, doctor and former soldier," the boy reeled off in an upper-class accent. "That's what they told me, anyway."

"They?"

"My parents." The boy threaded his fingers together. He was, thankfully, fully dressed in a fitted suit. John had heard horror stories of alpha friends coming home to naked omegas, omegas tied up, drugged men and women and all sorts. This boy was well-groomed and looked clean and well cared-for. His hair was brushed nicely back, and he was makeup-free, making him look healthy, rather than drawn.

John quietly shut down his mental assessment. "Your parents left you here?"

"Their staff did." The boy looked at him, pale eyes flicking over John from top to toe. His face didn't change expression. "How old are you?"

John wondered if he was disappointed. "Thirty. As of yesterday."

"Happy birthday."

"And you?"

"Fifteen."

The two syllables hit John like a train, knocking whatever he’d planned to say next out of his mind and killing off the budding interest that he now shamefully realising he’d been including in his assessment of the boy. John blanched, gripping the doorframe behind him as nausea washed through his bones. "Fif-fifteen?"

The boy nodded. The suit must have been provided to make him look older. It had worked. 

God above. 

"You're a child," John stood straighter. "You've not even... Have you even had a heat?" He sniffed the air, not caring about being obvious – the scent of omega was there, but yes, it was undeveloped – immature. A child.

"I haven’t had a heat. Not yet," the boy blushed. 

"Jesus," John couldn't look at him, his alpha instincts raising protectively, wanting to question the boy, make sure he was safe and well – not to have him in his flat like this. "Why... Why are you... here?"

"The arrangement was for your thirtieth year, or my heat, whichever came first? Weren't you expecting me?"

"Yes, but..." John winced. "I'm… I’m old enough to be your dad!"

"Yes, I suppose so. Technically."

John ruffled his own hair and took a deep breath. "What's your name?"

The boy blinked. "You know it."

"I know you as 'W. Holmes'."

"It's 'Sherlock'," the boy said. "No one... No one calls me William."

"Ok, then, Sherlock. I think I'd better put the kettle on."

 

*

 

The arrangement was anything but unusual. A fail-safe for alphas who didn't bond, arrangements were made when the teenager or young person came into sexual maturity. They rarely came to fruition, but John had been in the army, and then a doctor – he had very little time for dating, and hardly even dabbled casually, he was so busy with work. John's parents had made the arrangement for him when he was twenty, giving John the name of his 'backup' as he liked to think of him - W. Holmes. Elsewhere, in the Holmes Estate, a little boy sat reading to himself, unaware his future had just been safeguarded for him in the form of John Watson. 

When John neared thirty, he realised his arrangement was likely to be fulfilled. He checked the name of his backup with his parents, and even found a flat with a second bedroom (omegas liked their own space, even if they were going to share a bed). He knew the protocol – someone would deliver his mate to his den, and that would be the end of it. There’d be mating and bonding, and John would have a mate for the rest of his life.

Except, he’d always assumed his omega would at least be old enough to drive.

 

*

 

John handed Sherlock his tea. “You must feel a bit nervous?”

“I suppose,” Sherlock sipped it politely before putting the scalding liquid down on the coffee table. “I have been told what’s to happen. I understand the mechanics.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” John said quickly. “Jesus, I’m not… I’m not like that.”

“Like what?” Sherlock blinked.

“I don’t… like children like that,” John blushed. “I’m not a –”

“When you bite me my body will react by beginning sexual maturity,” Sherlock said as if reading from a textbook. John wondered if he had memorised it. “Your bite will cause my first heat and then I’ll be sexually mature and ready for your –”

“No,” John held a hand up, and Sherlock stopped speaking immediately, his omega obedience strong in his youth. “No, Sherlock, that isn’t going to happen.”

Sherlock’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “What… what do you mean?”

“I mean: I’m not going to bite you. You’re a kid. I’m not going to do that.”

Sherlock’s pale blue eyes widened. “But… you’re my… alpha?”

“Maybe one day,” John sighed. “But not now. You’re fifteen. And that’s… Not happening.”

“Then…” Sherlock looked at his cup of tea. “What am I supposed to _do_?”

“You can stay here,” John said, thinking fast. “You’ll have to. Legally, you live here, now. There’s a bedroom upstairs, you can have that and keep your things in it. Do you have a suitcase, or anything?”

“My brother was supposed to bring my things after we… mated,” Sherlock blushed. “I don’t know.”

“You can call him, and let him know what’s happening. Do you have a phone?”

“They took it off me.”

“Then you’ll have to have a new one. Laptop?”

“I don’t…”

John sighed. “Looks like we’ll have to go shopping. And see about school. Are you in a school?”

“I had a tutor at home.”

“Ok, I’ll have to get you enrolled somewhere.” John took a drink of his tea, then looked at Sherlock, who was gripping the sofa seat. “Are you ok?”

“I… didn’t expect this,” Sherlock said. “I was told you’d… bite me, and then… They told me about that. About how to do _that_. They didn’t tell me about this. About school, or getting my own bedroom, or…” his voice broke, and John was pained with how young he was. He wanted to go over the give the boy a hug, but he didn’t want it to be misinterpreted.

“I know, it’s new and scary,” John got up and went to sit on the sofa, but was careful not to touch Sherlock. Still, his presence seemed to make the boy relax. “It’s not what either of us expected, and just because we’re not… you know… now, doesn’t mean we never will, ok? Just… you’re not legal by any standard, and I don’t like children in that way. I’m not going to force you into adulthood just so I can have a mate. I don’t agree with it.”

Sherlock nodded, looking at John’s hands, raising his head for a good look at his face, close-up. John let him, making no effort to hide his age, or the history in his face. Sherlock’s face was still round-ish, little freckles on his nose, a spot on his jaw-line that looked so smooth John didn’t think he’d started shaving. Christ, what were they thinking giving him this boy?

“So… I can stay here?” Sherlock asked.

“As long as you like.”

Sherlock considered. “Can I ring my brother, now? Please?”

John fished his phone out and handed it to the omega. “You know his number?”

“Mm-hm,” Sherlock keyed it in and held the phone to his ear.

“Do you want some privacy?” John made to get up. “I’ll go sort the kitchen.”

Sherlock gave a tiny smile. “Hello, Mycroft? It’s Sherlock.”

John took his mug into the kitchen, unable to stop listening.

“No, we’re not… Don’t be disgusting!... He won’t. I don’t know, he just says he won’t… No, I’m fine… He’s not like that…I don’t think so.”

John opened the fridge. They’d need to get take-out.

“I need my things… Yes, I’m sure!... Just my clothes. And books. Has Mummy - … Ok… I’ve got my own room. I’ve not seen it yet, but - … I don’t know… Just bring them, anyway… I’m ok, I’m not… I’m safe… Ok… Bye.”

John made a show of coming back into the lounge. “Everything ok?”

Sherlock held the phone out. “He’s coming tomorrow morning. He’s a bit… worried about how you haven’t bitten me.”

“Worried?” John took the device. “Why?”

“Er…” Sherlock stroked a hand over his dark curls, “he doesn’t think you will. Ever.”

John glanced at the ceiling. “I can’t read the future, Sherlock, I don’t know if he’s right or not. We might do that, one day, but if you’re asking for a date for a calendar, then…”

“I know,” Sherlock said. “I’m… I might come into maturity soon. My brother did when he was sixteen. So…”

“That’s still very young,” John said gently. “I don’t think you realise quite how young that is.”

“I realise,” Sherlock said, then put a hand to his mouth, realising he’d argued with the alpha in front of him.

“You don’t have to censor yourself,” John sighed. “Ok, this is your home. Do you want to see your bedroom?”

“Ok.”

John led the way upstairs to what until now had been the guest room. “Sorry, it’s a bit basic,” he held the door open and the boy passed by him, the top of his head coming to John’s chin. “There’s a wardrobe, drawers, window, sink… Only one toilet and shower in this place, I’m afraid, but we can work it out. There’s a lock.”

Sherlock walked in, looking over the clean bedding (John changed it weekly), and the dust-free furniture. “You were expecting me.”

“I was expecting an omega, yes.”

“You made this room specially,” Sherlock touched an empty picture frame.

“Yes.”

Sherlock smiled, then. A soft smile that made his eyes shine for a moment as he pressed a hand to the bed. On the soft side. As omegas liked it. Cosy. So they could nest. So Sherlock could nest. He’d probably want to nest for a day or so, soon. “It’s nice.”

John cleared his throat. “As I say, it’s basic. But you can make it your own, put pictures up, have your clothes and things in… You can choose to have the walls painted a different colour if you like, I just went for magnolia because it went with everything.”

Sherlock sat on the bed, giving his skinny legs a swing. “I don’t mind it.”

“That’s good, then. Do you want a moment? I won’t come up here unless I’m asked,” he added quickly. “It’s your space. I know omegas need their own space away from – from alphas.”

Sherlock blushed, then nodded.

“Ok, then. I’ll go and –”

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock said suddenly. “For my room.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” John smiled. “But you’re welcome. I’ll see you in a minute.” He closed the door almost shut, and went back down the stairs.

This whole situation was a mess, but he could at least try and do the right thing. He wasn’t remotely attracted to Sherlock, but he wanted to look after him in the way any alpha would want to take care of a child omega in need. He’s house him and help him grow up, and anything else would have to take a back-seat. There was nothing else for it. He was Sherlock’s legal guardian, now, and would remain that way until they mated. If they ever did.

“It’s very nice,” Sherlock’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He’d taken off his suit jacket and tie, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” John shrugged. “Now… there’s no food in, so I thought we could order?” He slid Sherlock a handful of menus.

Sherlock took a seat at one of the barstools. “Is this fast food?”

“I suppose it is. Takeaway stuff, you know?”

“I’ve never had it,” Sherlock opened a menu of Chinese food. “Mummy said it wasn’t healthy.”

“I don’t suppose it is,” John admitted, “But once in a while doesn’t hurt.”

“Ok,” Sherlock smiled, as if he was in on a secret. “I don’t know what to choose.”

“Why don’t I order a selection, and you can try things and find out what you like?”

“Thank you,” Sherlock closed the menu again. “What shall I do… in the meantime?”

“It shouldn’t be long,” John opened his laptop to order online. “Did you want to call anyone else? Use the internet? Watch TV? Read?”

Sherlock blinked, as if the mountains of possibility were rising up in front of him.

“What did you do at - at your parents’?”

“I had violin practice before dinner,” Sherlock said.

“You play the violin?” John asked in delighted surprise. Omegas were expected to have an artistic hobby, but instruments were expensive.

“Yes. I’ve asked Mycroft, my brother, to bring it. Is that ok?”

“I’d love to hear it,” John finished typing in his card details.

Sherlock blushed. “O-ok.” He hopped down from the barstool. “I think I might go back to my room… I want to nest the bed, a little.”

“That’s fine,” John nodded. “Do you want me to shout when food’s here?”

“Please,” Sherlock went back up their stairs, and John noticed he was wearing socks with bumblebees on. Boy socks. Children’s socks.

What had they been thinking, giving this child to a grown man?

He must have been so scared, sitting on the sofa, waiting to see the thirty-year-old man who he expected to bite him and mate with him. God, he’d been expecting it.

Awful.

John opened a new browser window and started looking into local private schools. He was going to do right by Sherlock, at least. He could do that much, whilst the omega was in his care. And if they never ended up… as mates… at least Sherlock wouldn’t have spent years of his life in pain and misery. He could get an education and qualifications, and friends.

The doorbell rang, and John went to collect the food, calling for Sherlock as he went back into the kitchen.

The young omega appeared after a few moments, his hair mussed up as if he’d been rolling around in the duvet, transferring his scent onto it, maybe inhaling John’s smell as a comfort or just to get used to it.

“You look like you’ve been enjoying yourself,” John laughed, handing Sherlock a plate.

Sherlock grinned and patted his hair down. “Mm. It’s a comfy bed.”

“I’ve found a school walking distance from here,” John said as he took the lids off the takeaway containers. “I thought we could go and look at it, tomorrow? After your brother drops your things off, of course.”

“Oh,” Sherlock spooned up some chicken. “You… meant it, then?”

“Meant… what?”

“You want me to go to school?” Sherlock said.

“Of – of course. You’ve not even done your GCSEs.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll run away?”

“Not really,” John said. “If you’re unhappy enough to run away, I like to think you’d tell me so I can take you somewhere safe. And besides… I don’t want you to be unhappy. Ok? I’m going to look after you.”

Sherlock didn’t answer, but he smiled as he forked up his first mouthful of egg fried rice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John adapt to life together, and John meets the older Holmes brother.

John had to lend Sherlock some pyjamas to wear to bed, and find him a spare toothbrush. The clothes completely swamped the boy, but he accepted them gratefully, going to bed at ten on the dot.

“Goodnight,” he said shyly, standing at the bottom of his stairs, still in his bee socks.

“Have a good sleep,” John called from his armchair. “See you in the morning.”

Sherlock hovered for a moment, then disappeared up to his new room.

John heard the floorboards creak, then settle. He imagined Sherlock was nesting into a ball in his new double bed, wrapping the covers over himself like a cocoon to feel safe in this new house. John felt a twist of guilt. Sherlock would have been expecting to sleep with him. That comfort had been withdrawn, and Sherlock was on his own. John would have to make sure there were always blankets and cushions for Sherlock to use in his room.

He sighed, and put down his book. It was very strange, having someone else in the flat. And a teenager, at that. John didn’t have any experience with young people outside of medical work, and he didn’t want to mither Sherlock into feeling like John was his parent, but at the same time John wasn’t going to change his mind about mating with him. They would have to find middle-ground as friends, more or less.

He gave it half an hour before creeping up the stairs to listen at Sherlock’s door. John smiled as he heard deep breathing, with a mild chest-rattle that told him Sherlock was asleep on his back. He didn’t go in, and tip-toed back down the stairs to take a shower and get into his own bed. It had been a very strange evening.

 

*

 

John was woken by the sound of the shower clunking into life, and the pipes groaning. He sat up, on the alert for intruders for a moment, before he remembered.

 _Sherlock_.

He checked the time – 7:30 – and groaned. Sherlock clearly wasn’t one of those teenagers who could sleep through nuclear war. He got up and dressed, and went to start breakfast.

The shower clunked off eventually, and by the time John had set out tea and toast and boiled eggs, Sherlock was shuffling into the kitchen in yesterday’s clothes, his hair still damp.

“Good morning,” John indicated where he should sit. “Did you sleep ok?”

“I woke up about two…” Sherlock looked at the breakfast spread. “I think a siren woke me up. It’s loud, in the city, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it can be,” John put a mug of tea in front of him. “Are you a country boy, then?”

“Kent.”

“Not really, then.”

“Our house was back from the road, though,” Sherlock hadn’t touched any of the food or drink, yet. “That might be why it seems noisy, here…”

“You can eat, you know,” John said patiently. “This isn’t all for me.”

“I was… waiting for you to sit,” Sherlock said in surprise. “You’re at the sink.”

“That’s alright,” John smiled. “I’m not exactly strict with table manners, here.”

Sherlock took a triangle of buttered toast. “Mummy said alphas like their omegas to be proper.”

“Some do, I suppose.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m not courting you,” John reminded him, “so right now I don’t mind what your manners are like, as long as you’re not rude. Ok?”

“Ok,” Sherlock chewed and swallowed. “Does that mean I don’t have to make my bed?”

“It’s your room,” John took the seat opposite. “Just don’t leave mugs and plates rotting up there and we’ll get along fine.”

Sherlock blinked. “I can take food… upstairs?”

John burst out laughing. “You’ve been very well brought up, Sherlock, you’re making me feel like a right slob.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock said quickly, then realised the alpha was joking. “Oh… Well, Mummy and Father wanted me to be, you know, proper. In all ways. They never really said that I’d be coming to _you_ for certain, but they knew I’d be going somewhere… Omegas are expected to be polite and so on, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know,” John tapped around the shell of his egg. “I can’t say I’ve met many.”

“No?”

“No… I went to an alpha-beta school for boys… and then the army, and there’s no omegas there… It wasn’t until I started working as a doctor that I had any contact with omegas at all. And the ones I see in surgery aren’t always polite when they’re ill,” he smiled.

“Oh,” Sherlock held up his crumby fingers. “Have you got a napkin?”

John tossed him the tea-towel. “I’ll put them on the shopping list. You’re going to get me into good habits, you are.”

“Like a good mate,” Sherlock smiled back, then realised when he’d said, his smile melting into a look of fright. “I didn’t mean –”

“It’s alright, I know it was just a slip of the tongue,” John said gently. “I know you’ve had this mindset for a while, so I’m not expecting it to be easy. For either of us.”

Sherlock picked at the tea-towel. “Mycroft’s going to come over at ten, he said.”

“Good. Then I thought we could sort you a phone?”

Sherlock nodded, keeping his eyes on his plate. John realised he’d only eaten half a slice of toast.

“Don’t you want anything else to eat?”

“Not really,” Sherlock said. He picked up his tea. “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

John dipped his toast into his egg. Golden yolk spilled out of the sides. He could feel Sherlock watching him. “Can I tempt you?”

“Maybe just a dip,” Sherlock took an egg and egg cup. “Dipping your toast is poor table manners,” he added. “But it looks nice.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Sherlock took the top off his egg with a single swipe of his knife.

 

*

 

Mycroft Holmes arrived at ten precisely. He rang the bell, and there was a moment of stupid to-ing and fro-ing where John answered the door to another alpha and the alpha wanted to come in, but John wasn’t sure who he was. They settled on handshakes.

“Mycroft Holmes,” the tall alpha introduced himself. “I had assumed I’d be greeting my brother in law, but as of yet…” he inhaled, scenting, “nothing to report.”

“He’s fifteen,” John released the handshake. “Did you honestly think –”

“I dreaded,” Mycroft said, staying on the doorstep. “We are not a hive mind, my parents and I. Some of us opposed this from the word ‘go’. May I come in? I have Sherlock’s belongings in the car. My man will bring them up.”

“Please,” John showed him up the stairs.

Sherlock was pacing the living room when Mycroft came in. The look of relief on both the brothers’ faces was evident. Sherlock hurled himself across the room into Mycroft’s arms, burying his face into his chest, inhaling the scent of kin. “Mycroft…”

“You knew I was coming,” Mycroft pet his little brother’s hair. “Homesick?”

Sherlock nodded, and John’s chest twinged.

“I’ll make some tea. And biscuits.”

“Lovely,” Mycroft thanked his manservant, who had left two long-haul suitcases in the lounge. He led Sherlock to the sofa, and spoke to him quietly, though John picked up most of it, having rather acute hearing. “Is he kind, Sherlock?”

“He is. He lent me pyjamas, and I’ve got a bedroom, and he made me breakfast.”

“He made you breakfast?”

“And he let me put my elbows on the table.”

“Whatever will Mummy say?”

“She’ll be outraged.”

“I do hope so. Has he mentioned mating, at all?”

Sherlock shifted in embarrassment. “He says he won’t. He says _if_ he does, it’ll be when I’m older.”

“ _If_? Not _when_?”

“He said _if_.”

“I see.”

John brought the tea-tray over, and the three of them settled with drinks and shortbread.

Mycroft didn’t leave the subject alone for long. “Sherlock says you have no immediate plans to bond with him?”

Sherlock squeaked.

John lowered his cup. “Is this really teatime conversation?”

“Perhaps not, but as Sherlock’s present relative, I feel I am owed an answer. If you don’t plan to bond with him-” Sherlock squeaked again, “- then what are your plans? Adoption?”

“I’m not going to adopt Sherlock, he already has a family,” John sighed. “And – and I haven’t ruled out the possibility of… one day. But not for _years_ , Mycroft Holmes. He’s a child, he deserves an education and a life before tying himself down.”

“Then what – when he’s eighteen? And out of education?”

“I don’t –”

“Or you’ll let him get a job and a career first? Far be it from my place to say so, Dr Watson, but you aren’t exactly getting any younger, and Sherlock’s fertility will peak within the next ten years.”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock was as red as a tomato.

“For heaven’s sake,” John set his things down. “Will you stop embarrassing him, please? This isn’t nice, and I’m sorry, you’re in my house and I don’t want to discuss this any further. Thank you.”

Sherlock glanced at him, gratitude in his eyes.

Mycroft sat back, and John could have sworn there was a flash of relief in his face before it was replaced by nonchalance. “If you wish. But I have your assurances that Sherlock is welcome to live here?”

“As long as he pleases.”

“And he says you’re arranging school for him?”

“Yes, I want him to enrol today, and start Monday.”

Mycroft looked at his brother. “I hope you realise what this means, Sherlock.”

“I do,” the boy said softly. “I want to go. I want to learn, Mycroft, you know I do.”

Mycroft studied his little brother’s face, for a moment. “Alright. I trust you. As much as one can, in the circumstances.” He stood, and buttoned his suit jacket. “Thank you for having me, Dr Watson. Do take care of Sherlock, won’t you?”

“Of course I will,” John said, standing to show him out.

Sherlock hovered behind, following Mycroft to the door like a small shadow, lingering in the lobby. “See you… soon?”

“You can sort something between yourselves,” John said kindly. “You can use your own phone, later today?”

“Phone?” Mycroft frowned. “I thought Father –”

“John’s buying me a new one,” Sherlock beamed.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, looking at the alpha. “Well, that takes care of that, then. Keep in touch, little brother.” They hugged – a close hug with both of them scenting the other – and then Mycroft clicked the door closed behind him.

Sherlock wrapped his skinny arms around himself.

John tilted his head on one side. “You ok, Sherlock?”

“Mm,” he nodded.

“Would – would you like a hug?” John had to ask, Sherlock was practically hugging himself anyway.

Sherlock nodded, and stepped into John’s space, pressing his forehead into John’s sternum. John wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

“It’s ok, Sherlock. You can see him anytime. I’m not going to keep you away from your family.”

“I know,” Sherlock sniffed, and John could smell his tears. “I just… miss them.” He relaxed further into John’s arms, turning his head to rest his cheek. “I didn’t think I’d miss them.”

John held him gently. “It’s normal, to miss your family. It’s ok to feel sad.”

“They said I wouldn’t feel sad, because…” Sherlock swallowed, “because after you mate, you only love your alpha. So, I wouldn’t miss them, because I’d have a new family, a – a new purpose…”

John could feel his top getting wet. “Sherlock…”

“So, it’s hard,” Sherlock wiped his face and broke the hug. “It’s hard saying goodbye, again.”

“I’m so sorry,” John said, his heart aching for the lonely omega. “I must be such a disappointment to you.”

“No, you’re not!” Sherlock insisted. “You’re kind and nice, and you’re not forcing me or hurting me… It’s just a different kindness to the one I was taught to expect.”

John didn’t know what to say.

Sherlock shrugged, and looked back up the stairs. “I suppose I ought to go and unpack.”

“I’ll help you with your bags.”

 

*

 

The school was small and private, set in small grounds within the city centre. It was walkable to and from the flat, and John liked it immediately with its leafy grounds and red ivy climbing up the old brick.

The Head Teacher – a beta woman in her sixties named Ms Tressle – met them in her office. She took their names without batting an eyelid, and John realised she had to have seen all sorts in her time.

“Would you like to see the classrooms, Sherlock?” she offered.

“Yes, please.”

“Such a polite young man,” she led the way, and John noticed the awards the school had won for science and language teaching, the new laboratories and the interactive whiteboards the teachers were using. Some of the students looked up as Sherlock and John peered into the classrooms, but didn’t seem bothered by the omega looking to join them.

“Are you thinking of studying beyond sixteen, Sherlock?” Ms Tressle asked. “We do have a sixth form.”

“I don’t know, Miss,” he said quietly.

“Well, think about it. Sixteen is awfully young to leave school,” she shot John a look as if he was dragging Sherlock from the building, kicking and screaming.

“Miss,” Sherlock asked timidly as they went back to sign a few papers in the teacher’s office, “what happens if I… have a – a –”

“A heat at school?” she asked kindly.

Sherlock nodded.

“You’re only fifteen, Sherlock, dear. I doubt you’ll have to worry about that for a few years –”

“My brother matured at sixteen,” Sherlock said.

“If it _does_ happen,” she sighed, “most of our teachers are betas, and we have an alarm system in place for clearing the classrooms. We shall of course inform your… John, immediately.”

“My John,” Sherlock giggled, covering his mouth.

John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock isn’t my mate. He just lives with me.”

“For now,” Sherlock added.

“It doesn’t matter to me, as long as you turn up on time and in uniform, with your homework done, every day,” Ms Tressle said. “Now, there’s some paperwork to fill in, and the school outfitters closes at six if you wanted to go today..?”

 

*

 

“I look stupid,” Sherlock sighed at his reflection. He was in grey trousers, a burgundy-red blazer, and with a grey and red striped tie in his shirt collar.

“You look very smart,” John said, ordering two of the blazers. “Everyone else wears it.”

“I suppose,” Sherlock swished the curtain closed again to get changed. “Thank you, for buying it.”

“Not a problem,” John took the trousers Sherlock held out from around the curtain. “You can pay me back when you’re rich and famous.”

“Never, then.”

John took the rest of the clothes and went to pay for them, smiling at the weird domesticity of the situation. He’d imagined buying his son’s school uniform before, but never his… future mate’s. If that ever happened. If. If. If.

Sherlock appeared beside him, back in his own clothes of a long-sleeved baseball top and skinny jeans. “That’s expensive,” he noticed the register.

“It doesn’t matter,” John said. “I’ve had no one to spend money on, before now. Come on. There’s just enough to get you a phone before the shops shut.”

Sherlock blushed with excitement. “Thank you. Thank you, My John.”

John looked down at the young omega, and couldn’t help smiling back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are ups and downs as Sherlock starts school, and John realises just how complicated their situation is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a tumblr linked to my fanfics! Woop woop: http://laiquilasse.tumblr.com/

Sherlock took to school like a duck to water. He came back after the first day somewhat amazed to have found out he was already top of the class, and ahead of his classmates in several subjects. The perks, John silently supposed, of being from an old family with money to throw at your education. Sherlock happily went off to school again after that, taking his completed homework in ahead of the deadline, and looking very smart in his polished shoes and ironed shirt.

Months dropped off the calendar, and John noticed his relationship with the young omega settling from frightened distance to close company, where they would sometimes sit together on the sofa, but never touching. John had meant what he said about leaving Sherlock alone, and Sherlock seemed grateful for it. He passed the summer exams easily, and when school broke up for eight weeks of holiday, John took four of them off with him.

For the others, Mycroft took Sherlock on holiday abroad for two weeks, and he spent one with his parents, coming back to the flat for the last week to get his homework done.

John watched him the night before school started for the autumn. Sherlock was still a little boy – round-faced and cute and wearing a t-shirt that said ‘ _Looking For Adventure!_ ’. It was sweet. He’d cut his hair, though, to be like the other boys in his school, and John missed the long curls, but had to admit the new style was tidier. Sherlock would turn sixteen in January, and John knew he was nervous about that, despite the fact John had reassured him he still smelled firmly of undeveloped omega, without even a hint of maturity.

“If it _does_ happen at school,” Sherlock said suddenly, looking up from his laptop, “you have to come and get me, straight away. Even if you’re at work.”

“I would, don’t worry,” John forced a smile. “I still don’t think there’s anything to get in a flap over, you know.”

Sherlock scowled, the glow of the screen lighting up his face. John knew he wasn’t shaving yet, and he was still little – if he was going to take after his brother, he had some serious growing to do, yet. “It just worries me, ok?”

John sighed, and set his own laptop down. In the six months they’d been living together, Sherlock’s manners had eased off. He’d gone from ‘please may I stay after school’ to ‘can I go to the museums’ to ‘I’ll be back at eight’ extremely rapidly. John had let him. Sherlock deserved a bit of freedom to grow up without being bothered.

“What worries you, specifically?”

“That I’ll have a heat in the P.E. changing rooms or something, where there’s a load of alpha boys,” Sherlock went red.

“Ok, first of all, that’s not how heats work,” John said. “You’d feel tired and ill before your scent changed, and you’d eat a lot, use the bathroom more… There’d be clear signs. Did no one tell you this?”

“They didn’t think they’d have to, I suppose,” Sherlock glanced at the alpha. “They didn’t think I’d be… waiting for one.”

“Oh.” John scratched the back of his head. “Well, now you know. Did you… want to know anything else?”

Sherlock went redder, looking away.

“I am a doctor, Sherlock. Unless you’d rather google it and watch something questionable.”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock squirmed. “They told me… what mates do. That’s it. They told me…” he puffed out a breath. “That it hurts, but it’s over quickly, and you have to keep the bite clean, and try to relax when it’s happening, in case you get damaged,” he said all this very quickly, looking anywhere but at John.

John blinked. “Ok, then, I can see why you’re scared of getting caught out,” he said kindly. “What you’ve been told… isn’t always the case. In fact, if an omega has a natural heat, they are almost never in pain, unless they’re left too long without a knot.” John cleared his throat. “But that’s just muscle cramp, nothing that’ll send you to anywhere but the medicine cabinet.”

Sherlock scratched his nose. “Right.”

There was an awkward silence, then, John wondering what Sherlock was thinking.

“If you did have to get me from school,” Sherlock was so red John half-thought he might ignite, “what – what would happen?”

“I’d bring you home.”

“I mean… once it started properly,” Sherlock winced. He looked back at the alpha, hands gripping the leather sofa cushions. “Would you… want me?”

John stared at the tiny omega boy, looking so afraid across the room. “No, Sherlock.”

“But – but you’d smell me, and – and you’d want me,” Sherlock said, his brain obviously whizzing away with him. “You’d want to.”

“Sherlock, look at me? I’m a doctor. I’ve been around plenty of omegas in heat without jumping on them. If this happened whilst you’re still at school, I’d get you home, get you whatever you needed, and leave you alone.”

Sherlock stared. “But… why?”

“Sherlock bloody Holmes, you are fifteen!” John wanted to throw a cushion at him. “If you sexually matured right this second I would not want you. Got it?”

The silence was deafening.

“Ok,” Sherlock picked his laptop back up. “Ok, that’s fine.”

“Good,” John relaxed back into his armchair.

Sherlock typed for a moment, then took his headphones out and put them on as he watched something. He stayed silent for a good few minutes before closing the laptop lid. “I’m going to bed. Early tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to walk you in?”

“No, thank you,” Sherlock went for his stairs. “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight.” John let him go up, feeling slightly uneasy, as if he’d said something wrong.

 

*

 

Sherlock came back the next day in a foul mood. John had taken the afternoon off to greet him on his first day back, but it was like saying hello to a hurricane.

“Woah, you ok?” he gawped as Sherlock threw his book-bag into the living room and marched angrily to the fridge, wrenching the door open and swearing at the slim pickings.

“Fine. Stop picking at me for one day, won’t you?” Sherlock took a carton of juice out and punctured the cardboard with a knife, twisting it to make a hole with such viciousness John feared for his fingers.

“Jesus,” he stood and went over. “Use the juice tool at least.”

“Stop telling me what to do!” Sherlock slammed the carton on the side, orange erupting from the box. “Just leave me alone, you’re not my dad.”

“I’m not trying to be your dad,” John held his hands up, keeping his distance. He gave the air a subtle sniff – no changes there, so this wasn’t a sudden onset of maturity, thank goodness. “I’m trying to stop you slicing your hand open.”

“What do you care?” Sherlock poured out his drink and made to brush past John quickly.

John saw it, anyway. “Hey -  what’s happened to your tie?” He caught Sherlock by the shoulders and turned him, Sherlock’s omega instincts forcing him to comply with the action. He snorted, and looked at the floorboards as John surveyed the tie, which had been sprogged and neatly snipped in half. “What the hell?”

“I had to cut it with the art scissors,” Sherlock said tonelessly. “The end was burnt.”

“What?!”

“John, just let it go. I’ll wear one of my spares, tomorrow.”

“No, no, who did this?” John didn’t hold onto him, but his tone forced Sherlock to stay still.

“I could say a hundred names and you wouldn’t recognise any of them. You don’t know who I go to school with.”

“Were you having this trouble last year?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I’ve moved tutor groups, so I can go to the advanced classes… The boys that don’t like me… I’m with them all the time, now.”

“Then I’ll get you switched back.”

“No!” Sherlock’s hand jerked up and his drink splattered down his arm. “You can’t, I need to be on this side of the year for my classes!”

“Then _they_ need to move.”

“John, please,” Sherlock’s eyes were wide as he looked up at the alpha. “Don’t make it worse.”

“I’m not going to make it worse –”

“You will,” Sherlock turned away, setting his drink down. “I’ll be a – a snitch, on top of everything else.”

John frowned. “Else?”

“As well as being a cockslut omega whore,” Sherlock drawled, his not-fully-broken voice slipping over the swear-words.

“Wh…” John put a hand to his mouth. “They said that to you?”

Sherlock nodded. “They saw you, when you took me around. They asked if you were my dad, and I said no… They figured it out. They think I’m cockteasing you to get into their stupid school. So you’ll pay. I told them I didn’t need your money, and then they started calling me a rich bitch, and that’s when one of them set my tie on fire. It kept melting, because it’s polyester, so I had to cut it. They’d already sprogged it, so I couldn’t get the knot open.”

John’s heart felt like it was being twisted and wrung out. “How… dare they…”

“Just leave it, John. I don’t need them saying my _master_ is coming to my rescue.” The omega turned and headed for his stairs.

John could only let him go.

 

*

 

Christmas break came and went. Sherlock grew two inches in height, and as well as new trousers, John bought him a medical-grade laboratory set to use in his room. Sherlock was very happy with the present, taking it upstairs and setting it up for most of Boxing Day. He seemed happy to be away from school for the holidays, and John was more than happy to have him. The bullying had continued steadily, with the name-calling turning into pushing and shoving, and John knew it was a matter of time before a real fight broke out and Sherlock was sent home with a broken nose, or worse. Sherlock still wouldn’t let John complain to the school, instead studying hard in some form of rebellion and getting the highest grades the school had ever seen. John was undeniably proud of him, and kissed him on the top of the head when he saw the report card.

Sherlock brushed his hair with his hand after, as if wiping the kiss away.

That happened more – Sherlock actively repelling any closeness from John, down to him starting to do his own washing and ironing. He slowly cut himself off into virtual independence, relying on John only for board, lodging, and an allowance.

John knew why – the bullying had made Sherlock question their relationship, and, as he was getting older, he would be throwing up barriers to try and stay his own person for as long as possible. The boy still showed no signs of going into heat, and his sixteenth birthday came and went without a hitch, and John was grateful for it. Now, more than ever, he was unsure what they would end up being to one another.

Mates seemed entirely out of the question.

 

*

 

John was at work when the phone rang.

“Hello, Dr Watson speaking?”

“Hello, Mr Watson, this is Ms Tressle calling, from Kings Road High School.”

John sat up. “Is Sherlock ok?”

“I’m afraid we are having to suspend Sherlock for two school days, for fighting.”

“What?”

“I understand this is a shock –”

“Who was he fighting, and _why_?”

“Mr Watson, I share your concerns, but unfortunately, Sherlock is not giving us any names or information about the incident. He was caught by the caretaker punching and kicking an alpha boy from his form. He won’t say if he was provoked, and neither will the other party. They are both being suspended as a result.”

“For goodness’ sake,” John picked up his keys, “I’m on my way.”

He signed out of work, and took a taxi to the school. Sherlock was sitting outside the Head Teacher’s office, with a black eye and a split lip. There was no sign of his adversary.

“Well, you look a chuff,” John said.

“Fanks,” Sherlock huffed through his swollen mouth.

“Did you get a few in, anyway?”

Sherlock gave a rueful smile. “No commen’.”

“Tell me in the car.” John knocked on the teacher’s door. He went in and received a small lecture about the importance of school rules, and assured Ms Tressle he’d talk to Sherlock, and expected the other boy’s guardians to do the same. He came out, ready to tell Sherlock to go, but he was no longer in the chair.

“Sherlock?” He looked down the corridor, and saw him at the other end, speaking to another student. They both had their phones out, and Sherlock was nodding, pointing to his mouth before shrugging and putting his phone away. The stranger put his head on one side, and rubbed Sherlock’s arm with a hand. Sherlock didn’t brush him off.

He stepped closer.

John turned away, standing with his chest heaving, looking at Sherlock’s empty chair.

_He’s not yours, he’s never been yours, you can’t get jealous if he wants to kiss boys his own age, you’re an old man – just the old man he lives with and nothing else, do not get angry here, he doesn’t deserve that, you need to take care of him, he is not yours –_

“John?” Sherlock came back around the corner. Thankfully alone. “Dat was quick.”

“Yes, you’re to stay at home for two days and think about your sins,” John handed him the suspension slip to hide the tremor in his hands. “Come on, I’ll get us a cab. Does your mouth hurt? Do you need to pick any homework up? Say goodbye to anyone?”

“I just said bye to Victor,” Sherlock said, dabbing his lip with a hanky again. “He’s gon’ drop off my homework. I gav’ him my number.”

John relaxed a fraction. “Oh, ok. Victor. You haven’t mentioned him. Is he a friend?”

“He’s new,” Sherlock got into the cab. “’E’s from America. E’s clever, ‘e takes my biology class.”

“So, he’s a friend?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I ‘unno. Maybe.”

John stayed quiet for a moment. If this was the start of something for Sherlock… He couldn’t be selfish about it. Sherlock was only sixteen, and John might feel protective over him, but he wasn’t mature, and he was still so young…

John could bite him, right here in the cab, and send him into heat.

The thought made a slight rumble growl up John’s throat, and Sherlock looked at him in shock, leaning back a fraction without thinking about it. “John?”

“Sorry,” John apologised. “Rogue thought. I meant to say, if he is a friend…” the words stuck in his throat.

Sherlock glanced at him, clearly aware of the tension.

“I’m… happy for you,” John forced out.

Sherlock looked properly. “You mean that?”

John bit his lip and nodded. “I just want you to be happy, Sherlock.”

The omega held John’s eye-contact for a long time.

“Alright,” he said, turning to look out of the window.

John hoped he couldn’t see the reflection of him putting a hand to his aching chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Sprogging' is what happens to a necktie if it is yanked at one end whilst around someone's neck. It usually causes a tight knot that isn't easily undone, and the tie might have to be cut off from around the wearer's neck entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Victor get closer, and John gets increasingly jealous.

Sherlock sulked for the first day of his confinement, emerging from his room only for meals that he sullenly stirred around his plate.

“Do you like cooking at all?” John asked, trying to make conversation in the silence. “I know it’s something omegas are encouraged to practice –”

“I had lessons,” Sherlock sighed, putting his fork down. “Mummy made me go. Pastries and cakes and so on… Not meals.”

“Cakes?” John smiled. “Did you… enjoy it?”

Sherlock considered, picking up his glass of water. “I enjoyed the mixing part. And seeing how the different ingredients caused different results.”

“So… the chemistry side of things?”

“Exactly,” Sherlock gave a quick smile. He picked his fork up again.

“You don’t have to pretend to eat it if it’s not agreeing with you,” John said. “I’m not a chef, but I don’t want you to starve.”

“I know,” Sherlock forked up a twirl of spaghetti. “John… I am grateful to you. For looking after me…” he hesitated.

“I’m not doing it because I feel like I have to,” John said gently. He badly wanted to reach across the table and touch Sherlock’s hand to be reassuring. “Sherlock, you know I like having you here, don’t you?”

The young omega nodded, dipping his head submissively.

A hint of a scent hit John’s nostrils.

Tangerine amongst the vanilla-cake of youth.

It was gone as quickly as he inhaled it.

Sherlock didn’t seem to notice, raising his head again and going for more food.

John blinked and shook his head for an instant. It was beginning, then. Sherlock was about to start growing up.

 

*

 

**Knock, knock**

 

John looked up, as Sherlock mirrored his actions. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No…” Sherlock checked his phone. “No.”

“I’ll go, then. Probably a delivery.” John ruffled Sherlock’s hair as he passed, trying to catch the tangerine smell again, but it hadn’t returned since that first day of suspension. He went down the steps and opened the door smartly.

Then tensed up so hard his skull ached.

“Hello,” a handsome boy with brown skin and wavy black hair beamed at him. “Is Sherlock in, please?”

John stared. “And you are?” He inhaled subtly. Alpha. Not yet matured. Not a threat. And yet could easily become one. Difficult to organise in his mind.

“Oh…” the boy’s face fell a bit. “I’m Victor. I have Biology with Sherlock. I’ve brought him his homework.”

_Victor. The boy Sherlock had been ‘saying goodbye’ to. Now, don’t jump to conclusions, you didn’t see anything, they might have been hugging (getting their scents all over each other, god), or just saying see you to a friend. Nothing to get riled up about –_

“I see,” John forced out. “He’s upstairs. You can pass it on, if you’d like to come up?”

“Please,” the boy ducked his head submissively, accepting the invitation into the mature alpha’s den. “Shall I take my shoes off?”

“No,” John said, not wanting Victor even marginally undressed in his flat. “You can keep them on, it’s fine.” He led the way up the stairs. “Sherlock, Victor’s here to give you…” he stared at the empty lounge. “Ok, he _was_ here…”

“I’ll just be a minute!” Sherlock yelled from his bedroom.

John wanted to barge up and drag him down. There was no way he was inviting Victor to sit down and take tea.

He was tempted to ask the immature alpha for the homework himself, and get rid of him, but Sherlock appeared a heartbeat later, changed into his best jeans and baggy t-shirt that made him look sweet and so typically virginal and omega that he made John freeze in shock. The dark materials contrasted with his pale flesh and skinny arms, and he looked undeniably beautiful.

John hated himself for registering it. “Sherlock…”

“Hi, Victor,” Sherlock brushed past John, and John smelled the citrus scent again from his brushed hair. “Biology?”

“Yeah…” Victor was clearly as affected as John, with the wild stares. A dark scent not unlike woodsmoke mixed with his immature alpha smell. It vanished quickly into the air, but it made John’s fists clench. Victor wanted Sherlock. That was lust. Fuck.

“Is it an essay, or just a quiz?” Sherlock took the offered papers and flicked through them.

“Erm…” Victor swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to John, who must have been looking murderous and probably smelling of pure possessive jealousy. “Yeah, it’s an essay. Miss Poppy wants it back by Monday to make up for you missing these two days…” he zipped up his bag. “How’ve you found it? Your eye looks pretty bruised.”

“It is,” Sherlock touched it, the blackness having turned to a weird brownish green. “But it’ll be ok. Have you heard about Jackson?”

“You broke his collarbone, apparently,” Victor rolled his eyes. “He’s going to be in a fashionable compression vest for a few weeks. Very attractive.”

“He’s about as attractive as a dead hedgehog,” Sherlock put the papers down. “Do you have to get going?”

John looked away, rather than at the two boys.

“I think I’d better,” Victor said. He probably looked meaningfully at John as he did so. “You know?”

“I’ll see you out,” Sherlock led the way down the steps, wanting to get out of earshot, no doubt.

John heard it all, anyway.

In hushed whispers: “You didn’t say he was your alpha!”

“He’s not! I don’t even have heats!”

“But you live with him, how does that work?”

“It’s… complicated.”

A pause. “You had an arrangement, didn’t you?”

“He hasn’t done anything. He hasn’t… forced me, or hurt me, Victor. John’s a good guy.”

“He likes you. I can smell it. I can smell a lot of things recently; I think I’ll mature pretty soon. He smells… jealous. And possessive.”

“I doubt it,” Sherlock whispered. “He’s not interested. He told me so.”

A pause. “Well, whatever it is… You sure about this?”

Silence, that went on for several heartbeats.

They had to be kissing.

John put his head in his hands, slumping onto the sofa.

The door opened and closed, and Sherlock walked back up the stairs. John looked up. The scent of Victor clung to Sherlock’s clothes. He glanced at John, careful to be quick about it, submissive, apologetic.

“John…”

“Nice of him to bring your work over,” John choked out.

Sherlock nodded. “Yeah.” He bit his lip, white teeth scraping his perfect lower lip. “John…”

“Want me to take a look with you?” John said.

Sherlock nodded, and picked up the booklet, bringing it over to sit next to John. His vanilla-cake smell was there as usual, without the citrus tang of puberty, but with Victor’s woodsmoke and cigarette scents spoiling it.

John inhaled sharply, as Sherlock turned the first page.

Sherlock looked up at him.

“I think I can smell you growing up,” John said, by way of an explanation. “Only very subtly. And not all the time. But I can, every now and again.”

Sherlock’s grip tightened on the papers. “I’m… sixteen.”

“I don’t think you need to worry quite yet,” John touched his wrist. “You’ve got puberty to go through, first. Most omega males are grown physically before they have their first heat.”

Sherlock nodded, his grip slackening a bit. “Ok.”

“But it does mean that other mature and matur _ing_ alphas will be able to scent you,” John added. “So… Just be on your guard.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you have my permission to punch as many of them as you like,” John grinned, and Sherlock cracked a smile. “Not that you need my permission, but you have my approval.”

Sherlock nodded, his smile going down a bit. “What… do I smell like?”

John blinked. It was a terribly personal question, and it took him aback. “Oh. Er…”

“I mean, I have lived here nearly a year,” Sherlock said quickly. “You must know it, by now.”

“I do…” John licked his lips quickly, thinking. “Sherlock… you know that scenting isn’t an exact science? What you smell like to me, you might not smell like to someone else.”

The omega blushed. “I’d… still like to know.”

John cleared his throat. “Well, you…” he hesitated, then leaned towards Sherlock a little. The omega didn’t back off as John expected, he stayed very still and let John taste the air beside him. “You smell like… vanilla. Like whitest vanilla, but cloying, like cake, that lingering baking smell.” John winced, aware he was describing Sherlock like something he’d like to eat. “It’s… not noticeable, as such. It’s non-threatening, it tells me you’re young.”

Sherlock swallowed. “And what does growing up smell like?”

John inhaled again. “I can’t smell it right now.”

“But you said you could before?”

“It was like… oranges. Tangerines, lemons… citrusy. Sharp.”

“I’m turning into a lemon drizzle cake?” Sherlock asked, grinning and covering his mouth.

John burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Sherlock, I’m sorry.”

“I like it,” Sherlock giggled, his freckles showing up over his blush. “I wouldn’t mind that as an end result.”

“A lot of omegas hate being described as food,” John added. “You might go off the idea.”

“You said only you smell me like that, though?”

“Well, I’m not in everyone else’s heads,” John said. “But as I said, it’s not an exact science. I might smell you more strongly because I’m your –” he stopped. “Your, er…”

“…flatmate?” Sherlock finished for him, his smile vanishing.

John nodded. He was still leaning close, he realised, the smell of Sherlock and Victor in his lungs. He leaned back. “Shall we look at this homework, then?”

“Sure.” Sherlock pushed a lock of hair behind his ear, settling back on the sofa, the scent of the immature alpha he had probably kissed gradually fading from his clothes.

 

*

 

Sherlock continued to grow in fits and starts. One week he grew clean out of the shoes he’d only just bought, along with his trousers and shirts. He was now at eye-level with John, and John found it a mixture of unnerving and wonderful. Sherlock seemed to be stretching – his childish chubbiness turning lean without gaining any extra weight. He was a slender omega on the cusp of adulthood, and so desirable John started to consider locking him in the house.

He was stunningly protective of Sherlock, now. Even sending him to school put him on edge, because he knew there were alphas there. Including Victor, who called for Sherlock twice a week. They went out who knew where together, though Sherlock always made a point of coming home early, looking demure and apologetic, and then spending time with John on the sofa or in the kitchen, as if he thought he could spread his attentions across two alphas.

As much as John hated to admit it, the time they spent together after Sherlock had been with Victor (who had never been referred to as anything more than a friend) was so precious to him, he could feel himself aching for the next time. They’d sit together and breathe one another in slowly, watching TV or reading, or talking. Sherlock’s scent was more citrus-y than ever these days, and John had to wonder if the young omega would even make it to seventeen without having a heat.

But there was a more immediate problem at hand.

After a year of having an omega in his flat and having neither bitten nor mounted him, John’s sexuality was starting to feel rather raw.

After Sherlock made a passing comment about smelling a pregnant omega in the supermarket, John stopped wanking in the shower, terrified and embarrassed that Sherlock would recognise the scent of alpha semen. Or worse, that the scent alone would send him into a heat he wasn’t prepared for.

And as summer approached, John knew he was going to end up going into rut.

They were in the lounge together, on the sofa, Sherlock playing on his phone, John pretending to watch TV. Sherlock had spent a mere hour with Victor, then come home in a foul mood, which pleased John immensely. He took an open-mouthed breath, tasting that citrus scent, then kicked himself mentally as his blood rushed in response. This was not good.

“Sherlock,” John said in a this-is-important voice.

The omega looked up.

“If I said it wasn’t safe for you to come home, one day,” John said carefully, “would you be able to go somewhere for a few nights? Mycroft’s maybe?”

Sherlock stared. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No!” John held his hands up. “God, no. I’m just… I don’t want to frighten you, but I might be a bit… of a danger to you, soon.”

“Why?” Sherlock looked him up and down as if John was about to sprout claws.

“I can feel a rut coming on,” John said, embarrassed.

Sherlock mirrored his feelings by turning beet-red. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So… would you be able to go somewhere?”

“I think so,” Sherlock nodded. “He wouldn’t say ‘no’ if I asked him, anyway.”

“That’s good,” John scratched the hair at the back of his skull. “Sorry, I hope I’ve not made you… nervous.”

“A bit,” Sherlock admitted, and John was glad of his honesty. “You don’t think it’ll happen tonight?”

“No,” John shook his head. “But maybe in the next few weeks, unless anything changes.”

“Unless what changes?” Sherlock asked, completely oblivious.

“Unless I have sex with an omega!” John snarled, a low rumble in his chest making Sherlock grip the sofa. “Sorry,” John puffed out a breath. “Sorry, sorry. Hormones.”

“Would it help if I sat away?” Sherlock glanced at the armchairs.

“I don’t know,” John sighed. “My inner alpha might… look for you. Try and sit by you, regardless.”

“So… you sit with me because it makes you inner alpha feel good?” Sherlock’s mouth twisted a bit.

“No, I sit with you because I want to. Me, John. The doctor whose house you live in.”

“Ok,” Sherlock’s shoulders went down. He looked at his phone. “Couldn’t you… go and see someone?”

“Like a sex worker?” John clarified.

“Mm.”

“I don’t usually. I worry they’re being exploited. Particularly the omegas.”

“Aren’t there matching services for omegas who need an alpha for their heat?”

“How’d you know about those?” John asked, curiously.

“Victor told me.”

“I see. And yes, there are, but…” John sighed. “I’d rather get through on my own than with a stranger.”

Sherlock shifted on the sofa, and John caught a hint of that tangerine scent again. He was blushing, and – oh god – Sherlock was aroused. There was a fruit note along with the citrus, and the omega looked uncomfortable, crossing his legs on the sofa. Had he gotten turned on thinking about John in rut?

And now John was thinking of him being turned on.

Danger. Danger. Danger.

“I should….” He paused, inhaling, and that was a mistake. Because the scent was like flowers blossoming in his lungs, and lemons bursting on his tongue, and Sherlock was right _there_ , all blushing and shy and _hard_ , John was sure of it. Maybe he wasn’t having heats yet, but he was over the age of consent in the UK, and that would be enough –

Stand up. Stand up. Stand the fuck up.

Sherlock had gone very, very still, turning his face away as if hiding it, still so he wouldn’t be noticed. The behaviour of prey.

He didn’t want anything.

Except that his head was dipped to the side, and John could just reach out, pull him close and pliable and soft, and drag his tongue over that taut throat, tasting and scenting and nipping at that increasingly strong jaw –

NO.

John stood, almost throwing himself off the sofa and staggering upright. He walked out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster, his cock heavy and erect against his thigh, trapped in jeans that were doing him no favours. He did not look at Sherlock, afraid of what he might do if he saw that flushed face straight-on, if he caught sight of the omega’s own confined erection.

He slammed his bedroom door, and slumped to the floor, too ashamed to even touch himself.

This situation was getting so damned difficult.

 

*

 

John might have made it through his rut without incident if what happened three days later hadn’t happened at all.

John was at his desk, waiting for Sherlock to come home from the cinema with Victor. He was writing an application for something or other for work, when the front door opened.

“You’re early,” John called, looking up as Sherlock came into the room. “Wasn’t it any good-” he stopped and stared, his mouth open in shock.

Sherlock looked perfectly fine.

He smelled reekingly of sex.

Sweat and lube and saliva and semen.

John stood, his chair scraping back as he did so.

Sherlock wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were on the floor, his face red, neck exposed so John could see it was unbitten, the skin unbroken. Unbonded.

But he’d allowed Victor to fuck him.

To get inside him and fill him with cock and come.

He’d been there, when Sherlock was John’s.

Reason went out the window.

John charged over, grabbing Sherlock by the shirt front, alpha need burning under his skin. He pushed Sherlock against the wall, and started scenting him viciously.

“You let him. You fucking let him,” John kept repeating as he pressed hard against the omega and inhaled his skin, his hair, all reeking of another alpha who wasn’t even sexually mature. “You let him!”

“Yes,” Sherlock stayed still, trembling under John’s attentions. “Yes, he didn’t… I let him.”

“Why?” John stepped back, unable to stand the smell a moment longer. “Jesus Christ!”

“I wanted to!” Sherlock’s eyes were shining. “I wanted to… do it.”

“But you’re mine,” John said, not caring how unreasonable that sounded. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not anyone’s,” Sherlock snapped. “I belong to me. And it doesn’t matter who wants me or doesn’t want me. I’m a person, not a fucking broodmare.”

“No one said you were!” John gasped. “Haven’t I been good to you? Haven’t I taken enough care of you?”

“You took too much!” Sherlock sobbed. “You never… you never looked at me as if you might even one day… you said you didn’t want me!”

“When did I say that?” John stepped back into Sherlock’s space, trying again to cover Victor’s scent with his own. His heart was hammering, his head throbbing, and he was getting erect because every cell in his body was screaming at him to bite and claim and fuck and mate and breed and bond and _FUCK_ if Victor had been mature, Sherlock could be a bonded man right now.

“You said you wouldn’t want me even if I matured right now,” Sherlock rolled his neck back, letting John nose under his chin. “John…”

“Sherlock…” John’s voice was ragged. “You smell so much of him…” He leaned back, aware Sherlock could feel his erection pressing into his leg. “You… and him.”

“I…” Sherlock could barely speak. He glanced down between them, something like fear-filled want in his eyes. “John…”

“Fuck,” John’s knees buckled as desire washed over him. “Sherlock… I’m going into… You need to…”

Sherlock screwed up his face and pushed John away, as he had to. He _had_ to. John was about to lose his senses. “I’m going to Mycroft’s.”

“Get out,” John gasped, hand moving to his aching cock. “Get out, quickly. I might hurt you…”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock sobbed, grabbing his coat. “John, I…”

“Go!” John bellowed, desperate to shove Sherlock to the floor and climb onto and into him. He was in rut, his omega had been taken and fucked by another, and they were both emotionally compromised.

This was as bad as it could get.

The front door slammed, and John lurched over to the window, watching Sherlock hold his phone to his ear and speak.

“Uh…” John doubled over, and pulled his trousers off, letting them drop as he went to his bedroom. He was about to spend twenty-four hours in blinding agony, as he wanked through a rut he could have avoided, if he had only chosen his words better in the first place.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes out of his rut, and tries to get in touch with Sherlock to say what needs to be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos on this fic! I love you all so much I could squeal.

John came out of his rut around twenty hours later. He woke up with his head pounding from dehydration, the acrid smell of come in the air. He groaned, and lifted his head from the mattress. His bedroom looked like a bomb had hit it, and for the first time he regretted having carpets installed in it. They’d have to be cleaned, or replaced, more like. His landlady would throw a fit.

He dragged himself into the shower, wincing and hissing as the water hit his over-sensitive cock. The base was alarmingly painful – without knotting an omega, the bulge had swollen and bruised, and made John’s whole pelvis ache. It had gone down, now, but wouldn’t bear touching for a few days. All for the sake of sex. John scrubbed his body three times to rid himself of the rut-scent. He had to call Sherlock. Sherlock who had been so still, so scared and unsure… Sherlock, who smelled of sex and semen and sweat, so frightened beneath John’s vicious scenting, his desire to rid any trace of his lover from his clothes and body.

Christ, he could have done anything to him. Bitten him, raped him… Oh, god.

John banged his head against the tiles, the memories of the night before ploughing into his brain. Sherlock and Victor. _Sherlock and Victor_. He’d come home, stinking of sex, and that had sent John into… Not his fault, but…

Why had he done it?

 _Because he doesn’t see you as anything but a caregiver,_ a nasty little voice whined in John’s alpha brain. _Because you’ve treated him like a child, not as a potential mate. Because he knows you’d rather work yourself into a painful rut than try and spend a night with him._

John clicked off the water. That last one wasn’t true. He didn’t see Sherlock as a vessel to release his desires into. He’d never suggest… Especially as he was so young.

 _Old enough to choose to have sex with who he likes_ , the voice sing-songed. _And that’s not you_.

John wiped the steam off the mirror and looked at himself. Thirty-one, still well-built and with a typical alpha handsomeness that had ensured he had no shortage of offers when he was a teenager, but they waned as he got involved in his career… or did they? Was it a case of everyone… omegas, anyway… pairing off and bonding? Certainly no omega made it to thirty without being bonded – it would take a miracle, or an omega living alone on an island, somewhere. Still… John had never actively sought a mate because he’d always known about his arrangement, and assumed…

What was that saying about assumption being the mother of all fuck-ups?

John dressed and pulled his phone out, opening every window he came across as he went into the lounge to charge the device. Once it was active, he called Sherlock.

Four times.

Each time, no one picked up.

John stared at the handset. Sherlock could be busy. Have his phone on silent.

Or, more likely, have no interest whatsoever in speaking to the alpha who had pinned him to a wall and snarled at his throat.

John closed his eyes in defeat as he called Mycroft’s number. He needed to let someone know the flat was safe to re-enter, at least.

“Mycroft Holmes.”

“Hello, Mr Holmes,” John sighed. “Are you at home, by any chance? It’s John Watson.”

“I know who it is. And yes, as it happens, I am. Why?”

“Is it possible to speak to Sherlock, please?”

“… Sherlock isn’t here.”

John sat up. “What?”

“Sherlock isn’t here. Should he be here?” Mycroft’s voice was louder, now.

“He said he was going to yours.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“Last night?! And you’re only just checking in on him?”

“I’ve been in bloody rut,” John hissed. “Told him to go to yours for his own safety… He said, he told me he was going to yours!”

“And you have no idea of his present location?” Mycroft snapped.

“No, I –” John blinked. “I… Think I know where he’ll be. Who he’ll be with. But… I don’t know where, exactly, that is.”

A pause. “I see.”

John pressed the phone against his forehead, biting his lip in shame and sorrow. It was like admitting he was a failure. That he’d been awful to Sherlock, driven him away, when it was, in his eyes, anything but the truth.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “And how long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know. Since January? They’re friends… But last night he came home, and…”

“And?”

“I don’t want to tell you what he might not want you to know,” John sighed. “Even if you have pretty much guessed it.”

“I can assume you weren’t expecting to go into rut?”

“Not that suddenly.”

Another sigh. “I can track his phone. If I am able to make contact with him… Do you want him bringing home?”

John took a deep breath. “I think… he has to make that decision, Mycroft. I can’t force him to do anything, be that live here or be with me in any sense… If he’s made his choice, I’d rather not interfere.”

“I see,” Mycroft sounded sad. “I shall, of course, make sure he is safe as a priority.”

“Can – can you tell him I’m sorry?” John asked, quickly. “He’ll know what for.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“I’m not angry with him,” John said softly. “I’m honestly not. I just… I want a chance to show what he means to me. But if he’d rather not know… that’s ok.”

“Noted, John. I shall keep you informed as to what happens.”

The two alphas rang off, and John pocketed his phone before wiping his eyes.

 

*

 

Sherlock didn’t come home that night.

Mycroft called back to say his brother was at Victor Trevor’s parent’s house, and planned to stay the rest of the weekend. John accepted the message with words he didn’t remember saying, hanging up to stare sadly as the apology meal he had been about to serve up for the two of them. He scraped it all into the bin, not having the mental energy to think about saving and reheating it. He went to bed early, his room smelling strongly of carpet shampoo, and tried not to dream.

The Sunday was worse. Time dragged, the hands of the clock crawling around to six in the evening, when Mycroft had promised to deliver Sherlock back to John.

John cleaned the entire flat, aside from Sherlock’s room, which, although it smelled temptingly inviting, was off-limits. He sat on the step beside the door, gently inhaling the scent of the omega as it drifted from beneath the jamb. Vanilla and tangerine. Raspberries and cream and deep red bergamot. Unique, like inhaling a promise.

He missed him.

What was difficult to specify was in what capacity. Certainly John missed Sherlock’s presence – him beavering around the flat, eating things and leaving half-full cups of tea around. But he also missed the warm feeling his scent roused within him. He missed the closeness of the omega. How clever he was. How polite, and yet learning not to be. How rude, and quick and witty and how he’d let John touch his hair, and they’d sit close enough to feel one another’s warmth, but not touch – never touch. John had wanted to, though. So badly he wanted to feel the flex of Sherlock’s muscles under his hand, to feel the smoothness of his skin, the flecks of leg-hair under the pads of his fingers.

John bit a nail. He hadn’t said any of this to Sherlock. Because he hadn’t wanted to scare him off. He hadn’t wanted to appear like a pervert alpha who only wanted to bend an omega over and get inside them, no matter the circumstances. John did want a mate. But he wanted Sherlock more than he wanted a mate.

It was all so messed up.

And he’d probably ruined things.

Sherlock liked Victor enough to sleep with him outside of a heat. Omegas only generally chose to do that with their mates. That alone was a deep show of trust. Probably love. John couldn’t ask him to stop loving someone. He didn’t want to be the one who wrenched them apart. First loves were important. And Sherlock was entitled to fall in love. A lot of mates – probably most, in fact – bonded without being in love. Sherlock had been delivered to John expecting never to feel such a thing without having it forced on him. To fall in love naturally must have been like a drug.

John couldn’t ask him to go cold-turkey from that.

Six o’clock came and went.

Seven.

Eight.

At nine, John was pacing from the window to the kitchen and back again, biting his nails down to the quick, anxiety strangling his lungs and airways as he tried not to contemplate what seemed likely: Sherlock was never coming back.

He had to. He had to come back.

The phone rang at ten.

“Hello?” John gagged on the cold tea he’d swigged back in a panic. “Hello, Sherlock?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mycroft’s voice came through the receiver.

“Oh…” John sat back down. “I…”

“I’m afraid Sherlock won’t be returning to yours, tonight,” Mycroft said slowly. “He has, despite my advice, elected to remain with his… boyfriend. I am sorry, John.”

“Right,” John choked out, his throat closing up, nose starting to burn. “Is – is this… it?”

A gust of static told him Mycroft was sighing. “I have no idea. Your arrangement stands legally until Sherlock is claimed by another, or you claim another omega. Mister Trevor is not yet mature and incapable of biting Sherlock to force a bond with him, and yet they are determined to… make this work, I believe was their choice of words. I’m sorry to say, John, that Sherlock does not believe your feelings towards him are genuine. He believes your desire for him was motived entirely by your rut. He claims you showed no desire for him before that moment.”

“Oh, god,” John let out a sob. “I was just trying to… I didn’t want to scare him, he was so young. I didn’t want him to think I was going to…”

“I understand,” Mycroft said gently. “I believe that communicating this earlier might have saved heartache on both sides.” He paused. “Sherlock has asked me to collect his things from your flat. His uniform for school, his work, and so on. I shall wait until you are at work, if you wish?”

“Yeah,” John couldn’t speak. His nose was streaming, his eyes watering. He was going to lose it.

No.

He’d already lost it. He was already crying. He’d lost. Lost a contest he hadn’t actively participated in. He didn’t deserve Sherlock. He’d given him up too easily.

“John… I am sorry,” Mycroft said again.

“Thank you,” John blurted, then hung up. He pressed his head into a cushion and roared, tears and shot coating the material. He felt sick. An all-consuming sorrow was crushing him from the inside out. His omega. His omega was lost. His omega was _gone_.

It was like grieving.

John forced himself out of the chair, and did what he’d never done before: He opened Sherlock’s bedroom door.

It was messy. A teenager’s bedroom. A laptop lay on the floor. Socks everywhere. A mug of moulding tea. And a pin-board of photographs. Sherlock and Victor, Sherlock and Victor, Sherlock and Victor. Laughing, playing, walking, hugging. Selfies and group-shots and school uniform photos.

John wanted to tear them all into pieces.

Instead he went to Sherlock’s bed and picked up his pillow, pressing his face into it. The scent flooded his lungs and mouth and nose, making him hug the pillow tight, mourning the loss of the boy he didn’t deserve, crying as his alpha tears washed away the smell of sweet omega, and of the chance John hadn’t been aware he was losing.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's story so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this chapter is in Sherlock's POV. It also contains a non-graphic depiction of sex between 16yos.

**Four Months Earlier**

 

Sherlock glanced up as the new boy walked in. He deduced him as American before he even spoke, ignoring him as he sat beside him – in the only free seat in the room.

“Hey,” the boy murmured, offering a hand below the desk. “Victor.”

“Sherlock,” he shook it. “Oregon?”

“Yeah,” the boy raised his eyebrows. “How’d you –”

“Your father works for Citibank,” Sherlock nodded at the notepad with the bank’s logo on it. “That bank only has a few large branches. And you’re obviously American.”

“Obviously?”

“Your teeth are a dead giveaway.”

Victor stared for a moment, then laughed, putting an arm around Sherlock and pulling him into a quick sideways hug. “I think you and I’ll get on jus’ fine, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blushed, feeling slightly light-headed as Victor released him. The alpha boy’s smell was all over him, barely detectable by Sherlock’s nose yet, but he could just about make out the difference in scent. It was… different. And… nice.

He looked away from Victor, a rush of confused feelings going through his mind and body.

When he went back to John’s flat that night, he surreptitiously observed him. The alpha didn’t touch Sherlock. He didn’t pull him into a hug as Victor did. He fed him and asked him about school, much as his own alpha father might have done. Sherlock went quieter than usual that night, considering. John was his betrothed, technically. And yet since the day Sherlock had set foot in his home, he had never showed the slightest bit of attraction towards him. It hadn’t seemed important, until that night.

“John?” Sherlock asked, inching a bit closer on the sofa. “John?”

“Mm?” John looked up from his book, and glanced down at their proximity, stiffening.

“What’re you reading?” Sherlock asked, utching his knee a touch closer, his heart hammering at his own daring. Omegas didn’t make moves like this. He was probably making John uncomfortable.

“Just something for work,” John sniffed, moving his gaze back to the pages. “Did you want a look? There’s a lot of physiology in it.”

“No, thank you,” Sherlock sat back in his seat. “I’m alright.” He took out his phone and quickly punched in a search: **how to see if an alpha is interested?**

“Are you ok?” John closed his book. “You’ve been ever so quiet.”

“I’m fine.” **Recommended Result: Alpha-Omega Love Matches** Sherlock clicked the link.

 

**Alphas are primarily attracted to omegas who display attributes that show their potential as mates. This includes being punctual and tidy, clean and healthy, demure and shy, and not overbearing. Omegas who wish to show their attraction to an alpha would do well to display their scent gland (especially if unbitten), and to appear as innocent and virginal as possible, even if they have shared many heats.**

**Omegas should allow the alpha they wish to couple with complete access to scent and touch them, even with passing gestures such as hair-touching. An in-depth scenting may be initiated as part of mating, or as a possessive gesture. Scenting has also been noted in love-based relationships. Omegas may initiate a scenting, providing they remain submissive at all times. Asking permission, for example, is very attractive.**

Sherlock closed the window, and pocketed his phone. He couldn’t get much more virginal and demure. He’d never even kissed anyone. He could kiss John. If he were an alpha, and John were an omega, he could kiss him right now.

He glanced at John’s mouth. Pursed, as he was reading, pale pink lips and just a tiny hint of blond stubble on his moustache and chin. That would probably be scratchy. Maybe nice, though.

Sherlock looked away. John wouldn’t like it if he tried that. He’d said so. He wasn’t interested in Sherlock.

_“If you sexually matured right this second I would not want you. Got it?”_

Sherlock’s mood dropped like a stone. He brought his knees up to his chin, and took his phone out again.

**Have you done the biology hw? SH**

He wasn’t waiting long for a reply.

**Is this Sherlock?**

**Yes, who else? SH**

**You sign your texts. You fucking dork.**

Sherlock blushed red, biting his lip.

**Sorry.**

**Omg, that wasn’t meant to sound mean. I mean dork in a cute way. It’s sweet. VT**

An insult… to be cute? Sherlock blinked.

**I don’t understand. SH**

**I was just teasing you. And no, I’ve not done the homework, I’m sat watching trash TV. Have you done it? VT**

**Yes. Hence why I’m texting you. SH**

**Because you’re bored? VT**

**Yes. SH**

**Nice of you to think of me. VT**

Sherlock smiled. **How do you like England? SH**

**The boys are cute. VT**

He liked boys. Sherlock’s heart skipped. He glanced at John, guiltily, putting his phone away, suddenly ashamed of what he was doing. He shouldn’t be texting another alpha. He was John’s, wasn’t he?

Wasn’t he?

 

*

 

**Four weeks later**

“Damn, your eye’s going to be go black,” Victor peered down at Sherlock’s face. He frowned. “Jeez. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock dabbed at his lip, again. “Thanks for coming in…”

“Did they do anything?” Victor pushed a lock of hair behind Sherlock’s ear. His hands were so soft, lingering around the shell of Sherlock’s pale ear.

“No,” Sherlock shook his head. “They didn’t… They’re immature in every sense. They didn’t hit me because I’m an omega… mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“They think I’m a whore,” Sherlock sighed, the truth spilling out through his bloody mouth. “I live… it’s complicated. They think they know things, but they don’t. Not really.”

“Hey,” Victor touched his arm, stepping forward into his space. “You don’t need to explain shit, ok? You’re you, and _you_ don’t deserve to be beaten up in the toilets. You’re my best friend, and I… I’ll always come running. If you want me to.”

Sherlock felt his face ignite. Victor was looking down at him, lips parted, his eyes flicking from Sherlock’s eyes to his mouth, and Sherlock’s blood was racing, and he should just stay still and let it happen, his first kiss…

“Will you pick up the homework for me?” he said, instead.

Victor blinked, and stepped back. “Sure. You know I will. That’s no problem.”

Sherlock nodded. “See you.” And he went to find John, who was already out of the office, and looking rather upset.

 

*

 

**Two Days Later**

 

Sherlock could have screamed at how badly he needed John to comfort him. He felt as though his skin was itching, burning off for the need of touch. The only touch he got these days came in the form of punches. John hadn’t even touched Sherlock to treat his bust lip. He had given him clean pyjamas and made his meals, but never once held him, told him it was ok, comforted the omega who had been beaten up. Sure, Sherlock had shunned his interfering at the start, but now… he was hurt, and hurting, and he needed John to see that, and all he was doing was talking to him about bloody cakes!

Sherlock spent that night curled in his bedclothes, trying to think straight. He felt exhausted. He was lonely, he knew. It wasn’t enough to live with an alpha who might – _might –_ mate with him, one day. He needed more than a promise. He needed… something he didn’t know how to describe.

So when he heard Victor’s voice at the door the next day, Sherlock bolted up the stairs and threw on clothes that he knew made him look like a sweet omega. He’d bought the clothes from a website that described the ‘look’ as exactly that. And they seemed to work. Victor looked at him with wide eyes and a blush over his brown skin that Sherlock wanted to trace with his fingers. He’d caused Victor to have this reaction. He had done that. It was… powerful. He could make people feel things.

Victor seemed to agree, as they whispered at the door.

“You didn’t say he was your alpha!”

Sherlock shook his head. “He’s not! I don’t even have heats!”

“But you live with him, how does that work?” Victor folded his arms, looking not angry – concerned.

That made Sherlock feel sadder than ever. “It’s… complicated.”

A pause. Victor was looking at him as if he was a book he could read. You didn’t have to be a genius to figure out why Sherlock lived with an older alpha. “You had an arrangement, didn’t you?”

And yet hearing it said aloud was so embarrassing. “He hasn’t done anything. He hasn’t… forced me, or hurt me, Victor. John’s a good guy.”

“He likes you. I can smell it. I can smell a lot of things recently; I think I’ll mature pretty soon. He smells… jealous. And possessive.”

“I doubt it,” Sherlock whispered. “He’s not interested. He told me so.”

_“If you sexually matured right this second I would not want you. Got it?”_

Victor looked as if he didn’t believe him. Sherlock stepped close, his head dipped to the side, showing how untouched he was, how quiet and how good. He was here. He could he had.

_Please. Touch me. Please…_

Victor looked him over, glancing up at the stairs. “Well, whatever it is… You sure about this?”

Sherlock nodded.

And Victor… held him. Strong arms – gangly yet, as they had a lot of growing to do – wrapped around the tops of his own, pinning Sherlock’s limbs to his sides. Victor buried his nose into Sherlock’s curls and inhaled the innocent scent of him.

Sherlock exhaled shakily, the touch making him want to faint.

And then, it was gone.

“See you soon,” Victor smiled gently, stroking Sherlock’s nose as he backed off. “Yeah?”

Sherlock nodded, and went back upstairs to John.

 

*

 

**One Month Later**

They kissed as if the other was made of glass. So softly it barely connected, and so quickly Sherlock was tempted to say it didn’t count. Except it did, because it sent a jolt of desire straight to his pelvis, where it sparked and ignited into desire.

Victor blew out a breath, shifting on the sofa they were sprawled on, his parents out of town as they almost always were. “Sherlock…”

“Again? Please?” Sherlock tried to look small and innocent, and apparently Victor was fooled by his acting because the teenager let out a soft moan, and went back for Sherlock’s mouth. This time the kiss was firmer, and although their mouths stayed closed, the kiss did things to Sherlock’s body and brain that made him feel faint. He wanted to lie back, let Victor do whatever he wanted to him. He wanted to press against him, soak up that physical touch and burning desire, and the fierceness of being _wanted_. He was _wanted_ , and it was magical what he could do.

He let Victor push him back onto the cushions, kissing his mouth and cheeks, one hand in his hair, their chests pressed hard together, and their… oh.

“God,” Victor rolled his hips. “God, we’re not even… is this ok?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. “Don’t stop.”

“I…” Victor sat up, shaking his head. “That’s a bit fast for me. Shit. Sorry…”

“It’s ok,” Sherlock sat up, too. “It just felt so nice.”

“It did,” Victor took his hand. “But neither of us are mature, and it’s… it’s a big deal in any case.”

“We weren’t… naked,” Sherlock blushed.

“I get that, but still, it’s a big deal for me, ok? If we do that…” Victor swallowed hard, “and I mean pretty much anything below the belt, I don’t want to rush it on the sofa in my parents’ lounge, ok? Even if we’re not mature, it’s as close to bonding as we could get. That’s serious stuff.”

Sherlock nodded. “Does bonding worry you?”

“No,” Victor said. “But then… I try not to think about it. My dad bonded with my mum and it wasn’t planned. I don’t know how I feel about that. And you’ve got John.”

“I haven’t ‘got’ John,” Sherlock sighed, swinging his legs over the sofa. “He’s not my _master_.”

“You’re engaged.”

“So what?” Sherlock snorted. “He doesn’t want me, he never even touches me for a hug or anything. He treats me like a kid. Like I’m his kid. It’s…”

“Frustrating?”

“It’s boring,” Sherlock sighed. “I thought, when I was left there, he’d march in, bite me, fuck me, and get me pregnant. And that’d be it. He hasn’t done any of that. I wasn’t told what to do if he didn’t. No one thought he’d resist. And now…” Sherlock took Victor’s hand, “I don’t know what to do.”

Victor kissed his cheek, sadly. “You don’t have to choose right now.”

“I want to do the right thing, but I don’t even know what that is.”

“Maybe John wants to do the right thing, too. You only turned sixteen in January. And you don’t have heats, yet. Maybe he’s worried about looking like a pervert.”

“I know he is. But… I’m legal?”

“Maybe he’s waiting for a biological sign.”

“And then what? It’s a green light for access to my arse?” Sherlock folded his arms. “I’m not some… fuck-hole.”

“I never said you were, and I don’t think John thinks like that, either,” Victor rolled his eyes. “Sherlock… you’re you. You belong to you. It’s up to you who you have sex with.”

“Unless I go into heat and I grab the first alpha I see,” Sherlock said dully.

“That wouldn’t be your fault.”

“They might bond with me, and then I’d be trapped with them…” Sherlock looked up. “If you matured right now, you could bite me and bond with me.”

“I wouldn’t. Not while you’re feeling like this.”

“But you could.”

“I _could_.”

“Then… I’ll think,” Sherlock said. “I’ll think, until one of us grows up. Or John makes a move.”

“If I was a mature alpha, I’d probably knot you for talking like that,” Victor grinned. “I couldn’t stand the jealousy. It’s making me feel weird, now.”

“Good,” Sherlock leaned against him, relaxing. “Can we try kissing, again?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that.”

 

*

 

**The First Night / The Last Night**

 

“I love you.”

Sherlock looked over, his eyes widening. “What?”

“Sherlock…” Victor was trembling. “I – I love you. I’m not lying. I just want you to know.”

Sherlock stared. “But… why?”

“Why?” Victor laughed out. “Have – have you met you? You’re… amazing. And beautiful, and clever, and rude, and…” he touched the omega’s hair. “And I’ve been falling for you since that first Biology lesson. I just can’t hold it in, anymore.”

Sherlock covered his face with his hands. “Victor…”

“I’m not expecting you to say it back,” Victor said quickly. “I’m not, I swear, I just… Sherlock…I wanted to tell you. I… I wanted to tell you before…”

“Before?” Sherlock peeped through his fingers.

Victor winced. “Sherlock, I… I have an arrangement, too.”

“No.” Sherlock’s hands dropped.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re lying,” Sherlock said.

“I’m not… Sherlock… I never thought…”

“I trusted you,” Sherlock shook his head. “What..?”

“Please,” Victor took his hands. “Please, Sherlock, listen to me. I don’t want this other omega. I want you. I _love_ you. I…” he bit his lip. “You know the only way to get out of this is to force a bond.”

“You’re not mature,” Sherlock said. “Neither am I… this is stupid!”

“My omega… the one in my arrangement… her heats are almost on her,” Victor said. “We have to get there first.”

“How?” Sherlock shook his head.

“I looked into how to speed up maturity,” Victor blushed. “There was one way that kept… cropping up.”

Sherlock felt the blood drain from his head. “Oh.”

“Yeah…” Victor looked away. “I know I said… I wanted to wait, but… if it might help… would you… be up for it?”

“I…” Sherlock tried to think. “If we do this, and you mature… you’ll bite me?”

“I will.” Victor got down off the sofa, and onto one knee. A submissive gesture from an alpha like that only meant one thing. “I would have you be mine, Sherlock Holmes. I would have you be mine.”

“Oh god,” Sherlock breathed. If he did this, he’d belong to Victor, forever. He’d be wanted forever. “Yes…”

Victor smiled, and leaned up to kiss the trembling omega, hands moving to his shirt buttons.

 

*

 

It was painful. Sherlock knew that sex outside heats would be, especially if that was a first time. But it wasn’t a bad pain. And Victor apologised over and over, kissing Sherlock’s neck and back as he moved slowly in and out of him, clearly getting more pleasure from the experience than Sherlock. The alpha reached around and gently worked Sherlock’s slender erection, lessening the tension in his body into something close to pleasure, making Sherlock relax and everything start to flow much smoother, and easier, and almost feel good for the omega, who made tiny noises of surprise at the heat in his backside, at how complete he felt…

And then it was over.

And neither of them had changed.

Victor pulled Sherlock close and held him. “Maybe I did it wrong… You didn’t come.”

“I shouldn’t think that matters,” Sherlock murmured. “But it was only the first try. We can... try again.”

“We don’t have to.”

“We do,” Sherlock rolled over to look at him. “We have to bond.”

“You already have a fiancé,” Victor pointed out.

“Who doesn’t fancy me, or want me,” Sherlock said. “You do.”

“I do…” Victor kissed him gently. “Sherlock… thank you. Even if nothing… That was the most special thing I’ve ever done. Thank you… for being my first.”

“You too,” Sherlock snuggled into his chest. “I’m glad it was with someone who loves me.”

“So much,” Victor held him close. “Will you be alright?”

“I usually am.”

 

*

 

Sherlock went home to John.

And everything went to hell.

John was furious, and fierce, and scenting Sherlock like an alpha possessed. He was driven by hormones and jealousy, and for the first time, Sherlock was almost afraid of him. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not anyone’s,” Sherlock snapped. “I belong to me. And it doesn’t matter who wants me or doesn’t want me. I’m a person, not a fucking broodmare.”

“No one said you were!” John gasped. “Haven’t I been good to you? Haven’t I taken enough care of you?”

“You took too much!” Sherlock sobbed. “You never… you never looked at me as if you might even one day… you said you didn’t want me!”

And then John was scenting him and touching him and Sherlock could _feel_ his need, feel his body responding to this sudden desire from this very adult, very mature alpha, who could bite him and bond him and oh… Sherlock was frozen to the spot as John suddenly groaned in want.

“Fuck,” John’s knees buckled. “Sherlock… I’m going into… You need to…” He was going into rut. Sherlock had done it. He’d finally gotten John to want him, and it was driving him into a painful rut. If he didn’t leave immediately John would fuck him. He wouldn’t be able to control himself.

Sherlock pushed John away, as he had to. He _had_ to. John was about to lose his senses. “I’m going to Mycroft’s,” he lied. Any mention of Victor might make John bite him faster than he could blink. He had to move. Get out of the flat. Now.

“Get out,” John gasped, hand moving to his cock. “Get out, quickly. I might hurt you…”

And yet John was already in pain. Pain Sherlock had caused. God, why hadn’t John been _clearer_ …

 _Because he doesn’t really want you_ , Sherlock heard a little voice say in his mind. _He only wants you because you’re an omega and he’s going into rut. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want Sherlock Holmes. He just wants an omega. You stupid child._

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock sobbed, grabbing his coat. “John, I…”

“Go!” John bellowed. “Get OUT!”

Sherlock was dialling Victor’s number before he was even out of the door. “Victor,” he sobbed down the line, “please come and get me.”

“I’m on my way, love,” Victor promised.

And he was, arriving minutes later with a cab, open arms, and a shoulder for Sherlock to sob into.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing Sherlock's POV.
> 
> Life continues, but not everything goes as planned.

“You cannot belong to two people, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, putting down his teacup. “It’s not possible for an omega to do that.”

“I don’t want to belong to anyone,” Sherlock sniffed.

They were in the front room in Victor’s parents’ house, having been given privacy for this conversation. Mycroft wanted Sherlock to go back to John’s. He didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he badly wanted to apologise for his behaviour running out the flat, but at the same time, John had been so angry… Even if he was now out of rut, he would be jealous and cross. He hadn’t wanted Sherlock before. Was he now just being a dog in the manger?

“I understand your concerns,” Mycroft sighed, as Sherlock spilled out his worries in a mess of talk and tears. “I have spoken to John on the phone several times, and he seems incredibly contrite. Would you at least consider visiting?”

“I can’t…” Sherlock but his thumbnail. “He… he won’t forgive me. He might… force me.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t know. He never looked interested in me before Victor did.”

“A mark of over-protectiveness I am sure he now regrets,” Mycroft laced his fingers together. “This… with Mr Trevor… it is stalemate, Sherlock. You are not in heat and so cannot provoke him into maturing and developing fangs and a knot. And likewise he is not mature enough to bite you and cause a heat for you to bond through. You are both prisoners of time.”

“He’s engaged,” Sherlock said sadly. “If we don’t… try… He’ll end up being bonded to some other omega.”

Mycroft sat back. “And would that be so bad?”

“I…” Sherlock blushed. “I don’t want him to bond with someone else.”

“And what does he say?”

“He wants to try and force a maturity,” Sherlock went redder, though it was obvious Mycroft already knew his little brother had had sex.

“Maturity cannot be forced through intercourse,” Mycroft said. “It is rumour and old wives’ tales.”

“It sometimes happens.”

“Coincidences.”

“The universe is rarely so lazy,” Sherlock countered.

Mycroft’s lips went very thin. “Sherlock. You are playing an incredibly risky game. You are legally betrothed to John, and Victor legally betrothed to another omega. Think of the impact your relationship is having!”

“No!” Sherlock snapped. “Why should I? I have a boyfriend who loves me, and takes care of me –”

“You are both still at school!” Mycroft hissed.

“It doesn’t matter!” Sherlock folded his arms, throat twinging as he tried to speak calmly. “He wants me, Mycroft. Can’t you understand what that means?”

Mycroft stared. “You want… to be wanted?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Oh, little brother. When your heats begin you will understand what it is to want and be wanted. All you want now is attention.”

“You’re wrong,” Sherlock shook his head. “I want touch, and warmth, and love, and I’m damn well not going to get it from John Watson.”

“You want emotional highs, Sherlock,” Mycroft stood, and Sherlock’s inner omega quailed in fright, though he tried not to show it. “That is all. You are being completely selfish.”

“Who was being selfish when they _gave me away to a stranger_?” Sherlock glowered. “Shouldn’t you be happy I’m not staying with someone twice my age?”

“I’d be happy if John Watson had shown you anything but utmost care and love,” Mycroft said. “But otherwise? No.”

“Love? John doesn’t love me,” Sherlock snorted.

“Oh, really? Well, I shall inform Doctor Watson that you shan’t be returning to him quite yet, then.”

“Do,” Sherlock stood as well, noticing he was now up to Mycroft’s chin in height. That was weird. But nice. “I’m not going back.”

“Unless you have to?”

“Ever.”

“So be it, Sherlock,” Mycroft went for the door. “I’ll collect your school things from Baker Street, and you can decide for yourself how well this experiment of forcing yourself to be an adult is going.”

 

*

 

Sherlock bit his own wrist, trying to hold back the cry of pain that always came at the start of their intercourse.

“I’m sorry,” Victor stroked his face. “I’ll stop.”

“No,” Sherlock panted. “Just  - just go slow. I can…” he winced, gripping the pillow under his head in two hands. “Ow.”

“God, this isn’t worth it,” Victor withdrew, and pulled the covers over them both. He wrapped an arm around the sorrowful omega. Sherlock hid his face in the pillow. “Sherlock…”

“I want it, why does it hurt? I thought it was only meant to hurt the first time."

“Because you’re not ready,” Victor sighed. “I don’t think you’re even close.”          

“John said I smelled of growing up,” Sherlock insisted, voice muffled by the pillow and duvet.

“I think you are, you’re growing upward like a weed, but you’re very young for an omega to go into heat naturally,” Victor said. “I don’t think your insides are… developed enough.”

Sherlock made a frustrated noise. “Then how was he meant to fuck me if he bit me?”

“Because forced heats are painful,” Victor reminded him. “Yeah? You were told that.”

Sherlock grumbled into the covers for a moment, then pulled them down. “What are we going to do?”

“Pray,” Victor breathed into the back of his neck. “I can smell you so deeply, Sherlock. I must be close to maturing. I must be. I’ve put on half a stone in the last fortnight, and I think it’s all muscle. I’m almost there.”

“You’re only sixteen yourself.”

“Yeah, but maybe I’m an early bloomer.”

“And no doubt I’ll be a late one if we wait,” Sherlock snorted. He turned, looking them both over, noticing how much they had changed in these few weeks. At least, how much Victor had changed. His face was slightly broader, with a more defined jaw and he was shaving every other day. His chest was more defined, and he was taller again, heavier and more muscular than Sherlock, who still had a boy’s body, all thin arms and legs, a tiny chest and no beard whatsoever.

“Victor…”

“Mm?”

“What’s going to happen to us?”

Victor pulled Sherlock close, kissing his hair. “I don’t know, love. I really don’t know. I’ve thought of all sorts. Running away, trying to get out of things legally, even asking your John if we could bunk up at his and work something out later…”

“He’d kill you, if he saw you,” Sherlock said, starting to scent Victor gently, running his nose over his skin, inhaling what he could, though it was barely detectable to his childish sense of smell.

“Would he?”

“Well. He’d be very angry. He was so angry with me. I thought he was going to bite me.”

“But he didn’t,” Victor mused, laying back and letting Sherlock scent around his neck and jaw. “He told you to go, didn’t he?”

“Mm.”

“That’s some serious self-restraint.”

“Speaking of self-restraint,” Sherlock glanced down between them.

“What do you expect?” Victor smiled, rolling his hips up. “I’ve got a beautiful omega who smells divine scenting all over me, with his own cock not exactly out of the picture.”

“We could try again,” Sherlock suggested.

“Or,” Victor reached between them, taking them both in hand. “We could do something that’s not going to hurt you.”

“I’m alri- ohhhhhhh,” Sherlock’s head dropped forward as Victor’s hand moved. “That’s… oh, god.”

“Uh,” Victor breathed out, working his hand steadily, both erections in his hand, the two boys each giving tiny thrusts into his grip as he moved, slowly as first, then steadily faster as Sherlock shuddered and cried out, bracing his hands on Victor’s chest, his hips open and splayed as he straddled the alpha’s body, finally giving in with a soft moan that was accompanied by a small ejaculation quickly drowned by Victor’s own, much larger version.

Sherlock rolled onto the bed, covering his face with his hands. “I just want to do more for you. I’m sorry!”

“Shh,” Victor grabbed a handful of tissues, cleaning his stomach off before being the big spoon to Sherlock’s small frame. “It’s ok…”

“You were almost knotting,” Sherlock took his hands away. “I could feel it against my…”

“God, really?” Victor dropped a hand to touch himself. “I didn’t…”

“I could feel it,” Sherlock said with utter certainly.

“Then maybe we won’t have to wait long,” Victor nuzzled the space on the curve of Sherlock’s neck where he would have to bite.

Sherlock sighed as Victor scented him in a post-orgasmic certainly, watching the second hand of the clock tick around on the opposite wall.

He hadn’t been back to John for three weeks.

 

*

 

**Three Months Later**

 

Sherlock had been out for new shoes, yet again. He was going through another growth spurt. This time, his voice was breaking viciously, going anywhere between a stupidly deep baritone to a squealing soprano. It was hellish, and Sherlock was trying only to speak when strictly necessary. He was hoping his voice would settle somewhere in the middle. He was also aware that his height was not accompanied by any weight gain, and he was looking rather ill. Puberty was a bitch. He sent Victor a text, assuring him he was on the bus home, and settled back to read the headlines on his phone.

One caught his eye: **Local Hero Defends Landlady**

He clicked the photograph, and sure enough a shot of John Watson filled the screen, smiling shyly beside his landlady, the story below telling how there had been a break-in, and the brave alpha soldier had defended the place. The article made certain to mention John was unbonded, and there was a cheeky note about there being no shortage of suitors from now on to finish off the write-up.

Sherlock zoomed in on John’s face. He was forcing that smile – it wasn’t the genuine one Sherlock remembered. He looked well, though. Maybe a bit tired. That could be from work, though.

And it _was_ brave to fight off an intruder.

Sherlock smiled, putting his phone away.

The bus pulled up at his stop, and he got off to walk the rest of the way, thinking absent-mindedly about John, and how long it had been since they’d seen one another. Not since April, and it was now July. Sherlock and Victor’s GCSE exams were over, and they were both enrolled for Sixth Form, to start in September. Someone had paid Sherlock’s school fees. He suspected it was John, as Mycroft would certainly have mentioned it.

Maybe he should send him a thank-you card. He could do that once he got his exam results –

Sherlock stopped at the foot of the steps to Victor’s house.

At the top of the steps sat two large wheeled suitcases.

Horror ran through his veins.

_They’ve kicked me out. He’s gone to bond with that other omega. It’s happening…_

Sherlock couldn’t move, he was rooted to the pavement, eyes popping, heart thundering in his ears. “No…” He forced himself to move, up the steps.

The front door opened, and Mrs Trevor – a woman with very long hair and a permanent look of annoyance, looked at Sherlock, her eyes going wide. “Sherlock…”

“You’re still here,” Sherlock said, stupidly.

Mrs Trevor was quiet for a moment. And then yelled. “DAVID!”

“What –” Sherlock was knocked back by a man-sized whirlwind, who shoved him against the house and held him there, two hands on his shoulders.

“Stay there, young man, don’t make this any more difficult –”

“Stop!” Sherlock struggled, no match for the older alpha holding him still. “Get _off_ me! Victor!”

“Sherlock!” Victor appeared at his father’s shoulder, trying to pull the older man’s arms down. “Dad, get off him, you’re hurting him!”

“Get in the car!” Mr Trevor snarled, alpha dominance rolling off him so hard Sherlock’s knees buckled. Victor stepped back, then tried to compete, baring his teeth and growling. His father ignored the immature attempt at dominance. “I said get in the car.”

“No, Dad, you can’t… I don’t want this!” Victor stood his ground, fists clenched.

His father let go of Sherlock, and got hold of Victor, instead, holding his upper arms hard enough to bruise. “You’ve had your fun with this one, now it’s time for seriousness. Get in the damn car. Amelia is in heat, she’s in pain, and she needs you.”

Victor’s eyes unfocussed for a moment, then he was back. “No, Dad, I don’t want her!”

“You are not ruining this family because of a crush on an omega boy!”

“I love him!” Victor screamed. His dad back-handed him on the side of the head before dragging him down the steps. “Sherlock! Sherlock!”

Sherlock sobbed, trying to follow, reaching for Victor, arms reaching, grabbing, reaching… “Victor! Victor, please!”

“Sherlock! Dad, let me go!”

“Victor!” Sherlock shouted as the car door slammed shut. Mrs Trevor was throwing the cases into the car boot. Victor was trying to undo the locked doors, climb through to the front seats, kick the sunroof in as he fought his Father, who was holding him fast.

Sherlock couldn’t do anything.

The car was gone before he could even process it.

He turned to the front door, and pushed it. It was locked. He had never been given a key. His things were in there. His bag, clothes, laptop… everything.

Except his Victor.

Who was being taken to another omega. It wouldn’t matter how badly he said he didn’t want her. As soon as he inhaled the scent of her heat, he would want her, and her heat would kick-start his own maturity, meaning they could knot and bite and bond. He’d be as in love with her as he could be once this was over.

Sherlock slumped to the ground on the top step.

The cold slowly ate through his clothes as the streetlights came on, orange glows against the night.

“You there,” someone called up the steps. They were shining a torch. A policeman.

Sherlock didn’t answer.

“Do you live there?”

He shook his head.

“Then I’ll have to ask you to move on. You can’t sleep on someone’s doorstep, lad.”

Sherlock went slowly down the steps, aware his face was streaked with tears and snot, aware he was holding a carrier bag with new shoes in it, aware the policeman was looking at him with concern.

“Have you got somewhere to go? Somewhere safe?”

Sherlock opened his mouth, then closed it again. “No.”

The policeman sighed, looking him over. “How old are you, lad?”

“Sixteen.”

“Homeless?”

“Not… I don’t know. Yeah,” Sherlock glanced up at the house.

“Did you live there? Is that why you were sat there?”

“No.”

“Ok then… where did you live before?”

Sherlock didn’t answer.

“You got a mum and dad?”

He stayed quiet.

The policeman sighed again. “Right. You’ll have to come with me to the station, lad.”

“Why?” Sherlock looked up, assessing. Beta. Not a threat. Ally. Married. Two children. A dog. Over-worked. Kind.

“Because we need to get you a bed for the night, ok? You go to school?”

“Yes…” Sherlock couldn’t go with this man. He would find out his name and realise his address was still, officially, Baker Street. He’d be taken back to John. He couldn’t face him like this. “I should get going…” he started to move away.

“No, wait a minute, lad, you’ve got to help me out, here. You’re at school? An omega school?”

“No, I…” Sherlock glanced behind him.

“Hey, you don’t need to run,” the policeman stepped forward, slowly. “I’m not going to –”

Sherlock took off like a rocket, dropping his carrier bag as he ran, skidding around the street corner and climbing the low wall into the closest garden, dodging between trees to the back, and going over the next wall. He had no idea if the officer was following him or not, but he kept running. He slowed down once he was on a back-street, jogging to lean, panting heavily against a garden wall.

Mycroft. He needed to get to Mycroft.

He took his phone out. 1% battery. And his charger was locked in Victor’s house.

“Shit.”

He typed: **Locked out of Victor’s house. Am on a street called**

He looked up, trying to see a street sign.

_Felton Avenue._

“Felton Avenue,” he went to type. Except his screen was black. Dead. “Fuck!” Sherlock put his phone away, and sat on the wall to think. He had a bit of money in his wallet. He could buy a charger, and find a café to charge his phone, then call Mycroft from there. Simple. Safe.

He jumped down from the wall and started to walk, wishing he had his phone to use for a map. The main road didn’t seem to want to appear, no matter how much he walked. It was getting later, now, and even shops that opened late would be closing.

He’d have to find a pay-phone, and call from that.

Except the first red telephone box he came across had had the phone ripped out and replaced with a Wi-Fi broadcaster.

Panic was starting to brew in Sherlock’s stomach. He was lost, with no phone, and no idea what to do next. He needed somewhere to charge his phone. That was the most important thing.

He kept walking, the cold making itself felt through his clothes now, and still no sign of how to get to the city centre.

He looked up at the houses. He could try knocking on a door. That was risky – you never knew who lived inside, but he had to try.

The first door he knocked on was answered by an old lady who couldn’t help him with his phone, but offered him a cup of tea, which he refused politely.

The second door was answered by someone who didn’t speak English, and Sherlock wasn’t sure of the one they were using, either, so he gave up and walked away, leaving the man looking puzzled.

The third door was successful.

“Can I help you?” A man with a crew-cut answered it, looking confused at the sight of a teenage omega on the doorstep.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Sherlock said quickly, “but I was wondering if I could use your phone, please? I’m afraid I don’t know where I am. And I’d like to ring my brother.”

“Sure, come in,” the man opened the door wider, and Sherlock thanked him. The man was a beta, and that relaxed him slightly. “You wanna use the landline?”

“Please,” Sherlock stood in the hall, trying not to look out of place.

“You look frozen, mate. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Just lost.”

“You need anything? Something to eat? Water?”

“No, thank you.”

The man nodded, and went to fetch his phone, coming back with the handset. “You run away, or something?”

“Something like that,” Sherlock started to punch in the number.

“You know; you don’t have to go crying back to him if he hurt you.”

Sherlock looked up. “I’m calling my brother. That’s not a euphemism.”

“Ok, ok. It’s just… if it’s safer to call the police, or anything.”

“I don’t want to go with the police.”

“Ok…” the man leaned against the wall.

Sherlock hadn’t finished putting in the number. He suddenly felt very hot, and cold at the same time. “May… may I sit down?”

“I think you’d better, before you fall down -”

Sherlock stumbled, dropping the handset as he sat heavily on the stairs. “Oh.”

“God, were you out there long?” The man came over, looking concerned. “Head between your legs, mate.”

“No,” Sherlock leaned back, trying to fight off the queasy feeling. “I was running, and then…”

The man had a hand on his forehead. “Christ, you’re freezing. I’m going to get you a blanket.”

“I…” Sherlock shook his head as the man vanished further into his house. He was shivering hard, now. How long had he sat on that cold stone? How long had he been out in the dark in only a t-shirt? And he was sweating and freezing… Black was eating at his vision.

“Woah,” the man caught Sherlock by the shoulders as he toppled forward, crashing them both to the floor. “Shit, you need an ambulance.”

“No!” Sherlock staggered up, throwing an arm out. “Don’t call… 999. I’m…”

“You’re sick,” the man insisted. He picked up the phone.

“No!” Sherlock gasped. “No, don’t!” He pushed the front door open, and almost fell down the steps trying to get away. He could hear the kind man shouting behind him, but he didn’t listen, sprinting as much as he could force his tired body, stumbling between the houses until his legs gave way and he slumped against a wall, losing consciousness just as a pair of heavy Dr Marten’s boots came into sight.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock spends an uncomfortable night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments on this so far. Please bear in mind that I can't really answer questions about where the plot is going, and if you are cross because you *think* the plot is going somewhere you don't like, all I can say is it's up to you whether you decide to continue reading or not. I don't want to spoil this fic for the subscribers, and I'm thankful for every read and comment!

Sherlock was aware of something cold on his forehead. Cold, and wet. He opened his eyes, clearing his throat horribly as the fog cleared in his vision.

“He’s awake.”

“Uh…” Sherlock sat up, putting a hand to the wet thing on his head. A thick flannel landed with a splat between his legs. “Oh.” He looked up. The room was bare – not even paint on the plastered and brick walls. A mattress lay on the floor in a corner, along with several blankets and a gas-burner stove. A girl sat on the mattress, and two men were looking over at Sherlock. One got to his feet and came over.

“You alright?”

“Er…” Sherlock inhaled through his mouth, tasting the air quickly, but the scent of ammonia was all he got. “I…”

“What happened?” the man bent to look Sherlock in the eye, and a vague scent of halitosis joined the ammonia smell. “You hit it too hard?”

Sherlock stayed still, the flannel soaking into the sagging sofa cushion. “I don’t understand.”

“Bloody hell!” the man on the floor laughed. “How posh are you? You gorra bloody plum in your mouth an’ a silver spoon up your arse?”

Sherlock froze in horror, but the closest man rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, Warren, you’re scaring him, you fucker.”

“Sorry, mate. Sorry, young man. Not used to hearing a voice like yours, is all.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together. “Where am I?”

“Brixton,” the closest man said.

“I was in Clapham…”

“Yeah, you looked like you’d come from that way. Saw you faint right in front on me. Figured you were coming down too fast.”

“Coming down?”

“So you weren’t high?”

Sherlock shook his head, and picked up the flannel. “Thank you?”

The man took it and flicked it at the wall, where it splattered, then landed in a tin bucket. Sherlock wondered if that’s where it had been before it was on his face. He swallowed hard.

“Thank you. Um…”

“Davis.”

“Davis,” Sherlock gave him a tiny smile. He inhaled again, cursing his underdeveloped sense of smell that couldn’t permeate through the scent of unwashed bodies and stale lager to find out if the people in the room were alphas, betas or omegas.

“You got somewhere to go, kid?”

 _Say yes._ “No.”

Davis sighed. “Look, you’re welcome to crash ‘ere, tonight. It’s not nice, I know, how it’s dry, and warmer than the street. Yeah?”

Sherlock glanced at the dirty window, where rain was starting to trickle down. “O-ok.”

“You can have the sofa,” Davis shrugged, not seeming to be bothered by the wet patch Sherlock’s flannel had left on it.

“Davis, that’s my bed,” the girl huffed.

“Come on, Janet,” Davis folded his arms. “It’s one night.”

“Fine,” she scowled. “But you owe me.” She dragged a plastic box over to herself with her foot. “You in?”

“Don’t give him that muck,” Warren snorted. “He’s a nice clean boy.”

“What is that?” Sherlock asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Never you mind,” Davis shot him a look. “You’re not getting any.”

“Is it drugs?” Sherlock sniffed.

“Yes,” Janet shrugged, starting to stir something brown and gungy in a plastic dish.

“Oh,” Sherlock sat back, fear shooting down his limbs. Drugs. So this wasn’t just a room for these people who might be homeless. This was an actual drug den, and he was in it. He looked again, at Janet’s scrawny arms, at the shattered plastic that was around the dirty mattress, at the plastic wrappers and packets around the place, the buckets and stains on the lino…

“You ok, kid?”

Sherlock daren’t move.

“You don’t have to be scared,” Davis said. “We’re not going to hurt you. We know this stuff is shit. You stay away from it.”

Sherlock gave a single nod.

“You want a blanket for tonight?”

He shook his head.

“Ok, then. You try and get some sleep, yeah? You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Sherlock closed his eyes tight, and snuggled into the corner of the sofa.

Yesterday, he had been in Victor’s arms. Tonight, he was on a damp sofa in a squat.

Mycroft would have an aneurism.

John… John would probably be so upset. He had put so much effort into keeping Sherlock safe and well… and now he was here…

Sherlock screwed up his face against the sight and gasps of the people crouching around the Bunsen burner, heating up spoons, and falling back hard as the oblivion hit their veins.

 

*

 

Sherlock woke to a horrible burning smell. He sat up immediately, hand to his nose, eyes flying wide as he saw what was causing it.

The tiny gas stove was on one side, the flames burning into the mattress.

“Jesus!” he grabbed one of the buckets and rushed over, throwing it at the blistering fire, which hissed and smoked, almost extinguishing. He kicked the stove over and twisted off the gas, the bottle glowing dangerously hot. “Christ…” he backed off, afraid it would explode. He looked around, the room completely empty. It was like waking up in another world. He checked his watch.

10:23

Late. No wonder the place was empty. Still… He rolled the gas bottle far away with his foot, and went to the dirty window, careful not to touch anything else. The weather had broken, and it was a misty summer day in London. He could get a cab, or a tube, get his phone charged, and call Mycroft. He pulled his phone out.

Or tried to.

Because his phone was gone.

As was his wallet.

Sherlock didn’t even bother rifling in a panic.

They’d taken his things. Payment for the night in the dry, he supposed.

“Ok, then…” he said to his grubby reflection. “Now what?”

 

*

 

Sherlock left the doss-house and walked to a bus-stop, checking the map of London that was secured onto the glass. He found Brixton and walked his fingers over to Kensington, where he knew Mycroft liked to go for cake. It was a long walk, over the river, but do-able. He quickly recited all the names of the streets, and memorised the route, setting off smartly, ignoring the glances his dirty hair and face were getting, and also ignoring the growl in his stomach and aching thirst in his throat.

There were plenty of tourists, commuters and shoppers to blend in with, but they all gave Sherlock a wide berth. He had to stop and rest when he got to the river – his head felt very fuzzy, and his legs were aching. He sat on a bench, and took a few deep breaths. Across from him, a couple were leaning on the wall, sipping what smelled like hot chocolate, and laughing together. Sherlock squinted, identifying them as a Beta-Omega pair. Unusual. Still, the female omega looked very happy, and the male beta as though he couldn’t believe his luck as she craned up and kissed him.

Sherlock swallowed hard, fighting back the burning feeling in his nose and throat.

“Anyone sitting here?” a beta man nodded pointedly at the end of Sherlock’s bench.

“Go ahead,” Sherlock rasped, realising this man was the first person he’d spoken to all day. And he looked fairly normal.

The man took a seat, sipping at one of the drinks he held. He glanced at Sherlock. “Did you want this?” he offered the other cup. “It was two for a price.”

Sherlock reached out for it, then hesitated. “Er…”

“It’s not poison,” the man smiled. “I’ll drink it and prove it if you like?”

“I’ll risk it,” Sherlock decided, taking the warm cup and popping the plastic lid off. It was a hot chocolate. He tipped it down his throat quickly, his stomach groaning at the hot liquid, his insides shuddering at the sugar rush. “Ah,” he wiped his mouth, sighing at the half-empty cup. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Now,” the man crossed his legs and slung an arm over the back of the bench. “D’you want to tell me why you ran away from my colleague yesterday?”

“Colleague?” Sherlock blinked.

The man took his wallet out and handed Sherlock a business card.

“Detective Inspector G. Lestrade,” Sherlock read. Then looked up. “You’re the police.”

“Yep,” the man, Lestrade, put his wallet away. “And you are a young omega with dark hair and an Abercrombie t-shirt, looking scared and alone. But what’s your name?”

“Sherlock.”

“Ok, Sherlock… what’s going on? My colleague reported he found you in Clapham, and you ran away from him. He circulated your description, and there’s quite a few people out looking for you.”

Sherlock blushed. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’d rather find you here than have to dredge the canal for you,” Lestrade sighed. “So… have you run away?”

“Not exactly,” Sherlock finished his drink. “I got… kicked out. Not by my parents, by a friend’s parents…” he scrubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s complicated.”

“Sounds it,” Lestrade said kindly. He looked Sherlock over, taking in his unbroken neck-skin, his youth and vulnerability. “Now… you understand I can’t leave you here?”

Sherlock nodded. He didn’t have it in him to run again.

“Do you have anyone we can call?”

“My brother,” Sherlock said. “I… I was trying to get in touch… my phone’s been nicked.”

“Do you know his number?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, then. I’ll make you a deal: Come to the walk-in centre with me for a check-up, and then we’ll call your brother from there. Deal?”

“You’re not taking me to a police station?”

“Not if you don’t want to go to one.”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

Lestrade stood. “Come on, then.” He started walking, and Sherlock followed him. “So, you were living with a friend? Not your parents?”

“He was my boyfriend,” Sherlock said dully.

“Was?”

“He’s gone off to bond with someone,” he said, each word like having a nail driven through his tongue. “Someone else.”

“Shit. Sorry, kid.”

“Mm.” Sherlock shrugged, shoving the ache in his chest down, deep inside. He’d deal with it later. Maybe.

They got to the walk-in centre, and Lestrade put Sherlock in the queue, and bought him a pastry to eat whilst they waited. They didn’t really speak. Sherlock was tired and sad, and Lestrade seemed happy enough to let him eat his snack and sit quietly.

“Holmes?” A nurse called, opening a door.

Sherlock stood.

“Want me to come with you?” Lestrade offered.

“It’s ok,” Sherlock said. “Will you wait here?”

“Of course.”

Sherlock followed the nurse into the room, and sat on the bed she indicated as she took his blood pressure and temperature.

“I want to get a doctor to look at this graze,” she pointed at his face. “It’s a bit bruised… I don’t want you to have a broken cheekbone, dear.”

Sherlock nodded, looking at the floor as the nurse swept out of the room. The machines and monitors blinked cheerfully around the room. It was like white noise. It was pleasant. Sherlock could see his reflection in the mirror. He was thin, and dirty, and bleeding, and looked like a tramp.

The curtain was pulled back.

“Ok, dear, this is Doctor –”

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked up, so fast his neck clicked.

John Watson stood there, in a white coat and suit and tie, a stethoscope around his neck, looking at Sherlock as if he was a ghost.

“Hello, John,” Sherlock forced out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to John's POV!
> 
> Sherlock is somehow in the clinic, and John has a dozen conflicting emotions about it.

John wasn’t even supposed to be there. He’d taken the locum shift as a favour to a friend, and overstayed his rota-time, and now he was here…

…and so was Sherlock.

Sherlock, who had surely been gone for longer than four months, if his appearance was anything to go by. He was thin, and lanky, and tall, and his hair was long again, like when they first met, and he looked as if he’d spent the night in a crack den.

_Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock_

“Hello, John.” Sherlock forced a tiny smile, making less than one second of eye-contact before going red and looking back at the heart-rate monitor in the corner.

John tightened his grip on the door. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to run away. He wanted to throw himself into the room and scent Sherlock’s throat – his unbroken, beautiful skin, oh god, how John had missed that sight. John wanted to demand how and why and where and _who_ , but he couldn’t tear himself away from the door handle.

The nurse looked from her patient to the doctor with concern. “You two know one another?”

“We…” John cleared his throat. “Er, yeah. It’s fine, Polly, honestly. If Sherlock’s happy for me to treat him?”

Sherlock looked up, his pale eyes ringed in dark and lilac – he was exhausted. God, those months apart had made Sherlock stretch and grow like a weed, his face losing the roundness and freckles of childhood, but his body was still skinny and bony – he was a typical adolescent, aside from the dirt, and the wound to his face.

“I don’t mind, Doctor Watson,” the omega said softly.

His voice was deeper.

John forced himself to let go of the door handle. “Right. Ok then, Polly?”

The nurse nodded, leaving them alone.

John took a deep breath before stepping into the room. Which may or may not have been a mistake, as Sherlock hadn’t washed and was drenched in pheromones and his own lingering scent, and all of it went rushing into John’s lungs, and straight into his brain, making him blink hurriedly for a moment.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but John saw him raise his head and sniff, testing the air. A disappointed twitch of his nose told John he couldn’t smell enough to make a deduction, and it was irritating him.

“So,” John picked up a kidney dish of warm water, and a bundle of cotton balls. “What happened to you?”

“You mean the face?” Sherlock asked, finding John’s eyes. “Or in general?”

“Let’s start with the face.”

Sherlock gave what might have been the ghost of a smile. “I fell.”

“A likely story,” John took hold of the omega’s jaw, gently holding him still as he swabbed over his skin, leaving a clean streak.

“It’s true,” Sherlock talked, John letting him move his mouth easily. “I was running. And I fainted.”

“You fainted?” John looked up as he dipped the cotton wool, realising he wasn’t wearing gloves, and his fingers were tingling as he touched Sherlock’s face. He should let go. He should really let go.

“Yes.”

“So… when was this? This morning?”

“Last night.” Sherlock sighed. John could have sworn he leaned into his touch. “I didn’t realise it was bruising so badly. I didn’t have a mirror to look in.”

John let go of Sherlock’s chin, and dropped the dirty swabs into the bin. He sprayed antiseptic onto a clean swab and held it up in a pair of steel tongs. “Sherlock… What aren’t you telling me? You don’t have to…” he sighed, wincing a little. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. I know you live with… it’s…” he brought the swab down and started to clean the cut, “I just want you to be safe.”

Sherlock snorted. “Sure. That’s the end-all with you, isn’t it?”

“What?” John frowned.

“You want me safe,” Sherlock said dully. “Safe, and fed, and in school and bring home good reports like I’m your kid. That’s all you ever wanted.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” John said, shocked surprised spiking through him.

“It didn’t feel like a good thing,” Sherlock closed his eyes. “You…” he stopped, eyes screwing up.

John lowered his swab. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock opened his eyes, looking away. John could see they were shining with barely held-back tears.

“Sherlock, are you..?” John’s hand hovered near the omega’s face.

“I’m… not… ok,” Sherlock forced out, tears starting to fall. “I…” his shoulders started to shake and he brought his hands up to his face. “I’m not…”

“Oh god, Sherlock,” John held his hands up as Sherlock curled into himself, knees up as he shook, sobbing into his palms. The young omega cried silently, trembling with something he couldn’t say. Wouldn’t say.

John couldn’t touch him. He was an adult, an alpha, a doctor for crying out loud.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

_It didn’t feel like a good thing._

_That’s the end-all with you, isn’t it?_

_That’s all you ever wanted._

“Oh my god…” John shook his head, standing and putting his arms around the boy on the bed. He could be sacked for this.

He didn’t care.

He stroked Sherlock’s hair, and hummed softly to him as Sherlock slowly unwound himself. His cries slowed, the shaking coming to a stop as he leaned against John’s chest, inhaling the alpha smell he was clearly taking comfort in.

John felt a pang of sorrow. Maybe it was just because he was an adult alpha and therefore a natural comfort to the immature omega. Or maybe it was because he was John. He didn’t know. And he didn’t care.

“I can’t believe I’ve never hugged you before,” he said, voice cracking.

Sherlock sobbed out a laugh. “God.”

“I know…” John shook his head. He swallowed and pulled back to look down at the youngster. “What happened, Sherlock? How did you get like this? Who brought you here? Was it… Victor?”

“No,” Sherlock started crying again as if John had turned on a tap. “No, he’s… gone.”

“Gone?”

“I can’t,” Sherlock shook his head, nuzzling into John’s chest. “Don’t – I can’t – not yet –”

“Ok,” John had to say, though he badly wanted to press Sherlock for information. “Ok… who brought you here?”

“His name’s Lestrade,” Sherlock let go of John and wiped his face with a hand. “He’s a police officer.”

John’s stomach contracted. “A police… Sherlock? Have you been arrested?”

“No,” he sighed. “He found me… It’s a long story.”

John pulled up a chair with his ankle. “I’ve got all day.”

 

*

 

The story came to John in fits and starts. Sherlock told most of it to the floor, and John let him. When Sherlock got to the part of the Trevors locking him out of the house, John had to stand up and take a moment to gather himself, because he badly wanted to smash something. How dare they. How could they leave an omega – a young man – on the street by himself?

Finally, Sherlock got to Lestrade meeting him on the riverside, and shrugged as he finished talking.

“Jesus,” John shook his head. “That’s… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Sherlock frowned at him.

“Sorry you had to go through it. I… I wish you hadn’t.”

“You don’t wish I was still with Victor, though,” Sherlock pointed out.

“You know I don’t.”

Sherlock laughed, bitterly. “Would it have killed you to say that six months ago?”

“It might have hurt you,” John said.

“I’m not that useless. I wanted…” Sherlock sniffed, and looked at the ceiling tiles. “Fuck, I just wanted someone, and you were neither use nor ornament, John. I’m so… tired.”

John stared for a moment, then nodded. “So… what happens now?”

“I need to call Mycroft,” Sherlock said. “If he doesn’t already know I’m here.”

“Ok…” John handed him the office phone. “Want some privacy?”

“Please.”

John opened the door, and went into the waiting room. He saw a beta look up, and come over to him. He held his hand out. “Mister Lestrade, I assume?”

“Detective Inspector,” Lestrade corrected, shaking hands. “You’re Sherlock’s doctor?”

“At the moment,” John said, hesitating. “We, er…” he put his hands in his coat pocket. “We’re arranged to be bonded, actually, but –”

“Don’t tell me you’re the one who kicked him out?”

“God, no. He’s been living with a… boyfriend.” John wanted to evaporate on the spot. Admitting your betrothed had found someone else was slightly humiliating.

Lestrade looked him up and down, then nodded. “Well. Good for you for not forcing him. I see it a lot, as you’d imagine. The age differences I see… Sixty year old alphas on their third or fourth omega, and their newest one is a teenager. I have to say I find it all a bit distasteful.”

“As do I,” John said. “I’ve never… never done anything to him. But apparently that was part of the problem…”

“Ah,” Lestrade nodded slowly. “I see. He’s sixteen, right?”

“He is.”

“I can’t smell anything, obviously,” Lestrade shrugged, “but to me, he still looks like a kid. If you’re hoping to rescue him, maybe don’t rush into anything?”

“I don’t even think he wants to come back with me,” John said. “He’s speaking to his brother at the moment. Did you want to come in when he’s done?”

“Sure.”

The door opened then, Sherlock looking out. “I’m done,” he held the phone out.

John wondered if he’d been listening to the conversation. “Everything ok?”

“Mycroft’s coming here. He won’t be long,” Sherlock smiled quickly, then looked at Lestrade. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I did, I was going to wait with you for your brother,” Lestrade said kindly. “Dr Watson here was just telling me you know one another.”

“Yes,” Sherlock glanced at John. “We do.”

Lestrade stayed quiet, clearly testing the air for tension. And finding plenty of it. “And you’re ok with Dr Watson treating you?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said instantly. “He’s fine to treat me.”

John let out a sigh of relief.

“Ok…” Lestrade took out his business card. “My direct number is on there, Sherlock. If you need to call, for _any_ reason, ok?”

“Thank you,” Sherlock took it and pocketed it. “Thank you for… picking me up.”

“No worries, kid,” Lestrade smiled. “Remember, no running off from police officers in future, ok? We’re most alright, you know.”

“I’ll remember,” Sherlock smiled, and John felt a pang of something in his chest at the sight of that genuine, shy, boyish smile. The one he had missed so much. Oh god, he wanted to see that smile again. And again. And again.

Lestrade gave them both a nod, and walked out of the clinic.

“Do you want to wait in here? For Mycroft?” John nodded at the assessment room.

Sherlock blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“I meant, it’s not nice, sitting in the waiting room on your own.”

“Mycroft isn’t coming,” Sherlock said. “I… I don’t live with him. I just said that to get rid of the police officer.”

John paused. He opened the door back into the assessment room, and Sherlock went in, away from prying ears and eyes. “You don’t live with Mycroft,” John said. “And you can’t live with Victor. What exactly do you think is happening, here?”

“I’m… coming home, aren’t I?” Sherlock looked confused, young, sixteen.

John stared. “Just like that?”

“I… I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Sherlock pointed out. “Are – are you saying you don’t want me back at home?”

“Home? I…” John huffed out a laugh. “Of course I want you back home, Sherlock, but.. you left me. You left my flat. Are you ok just…coming back?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t think I have a lot of options. Mycroft is arranging for someone to… access my things in Victor’s house. He’s going to take them to Baker Street.”

John leaned on the desk. “And then what happens? You go to school, and live with me, but… what are we?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” Sherlock folded his arms. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I just want a bed to sleep in, right this moment. And a house that isn’t a crack den, and a flatmate who isn’t going to rob me in my sleep. I thought you might be agreeable to that.”

“I am,” John said. “But Sherlock… you realise that things can’t be exactly the same? The last time I saw you…” he winced, “the last time I saw you, you walked into my den, smelling of some other alpha – smelling of sex with an alpha who wasn’t me. I never realised… I never acknowledged, I mean… what you meant to me until that moment. I wanted only to keep you safe and happy, because I care for you. And for you to choose someone else over me… Deep inside, it help like betrayal. Like you didn’t care for what I’d done for you.”

“It felt like you were treating me like a child!”

“Because you were! You are!”

“I’m not,” Sherlock’s eyes flashed. A smell of tangerines and bonfire toffee burst at the back of John’s throat as he tasted the omega’s anger, and growing maturity. He stepped forward, mouth suddenly wet as he felt an explosion of need and want course through him. He wanted to calm this omega, to overpower him and claim him and stop him feeling this angry rejection.

“Alright,” he forced out, instead. “Alright, you’re not. You’re Sherlock Holmes, a bloody-minded omega who I would very much like to have living with me, but…” he inhaled again, and couldn’t help biting his lower lip for a second.

Sherlock noticed, his eyes flicking to John’s mouth. He pressed his own lips together.

“…but I get we both have a lot to get over, and talk through if this is going to work, again. You have to tell me what you need, and what you want, and I’ll do the same. We… we can’t live together, especially with you growing up so fast, without being honest with one another. Ok? If you want a boyfriend, or whatever, you tell me, and we work something out. I can’t… I can’t stand the thought of you coming back smelling like that again. I almost hurt you before. I don’t think I could stand to smell that a second time.”

Sherlock nodded. “And likewise, if you’re visiting an omega, or going into rut, you tell me, and I shall… do something.”

John nodded. “And… the future? What about that?”

“Mycroft mentioned it,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about that, right now.”

“Ok,” John said. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Ok.”

They stared at one another.

John wondered if they should hug, and decided to try it, raising his arms a fraction.

Sherlock leaned forward a touch.

The moment passed, and they both relaxed out of it.

“I’ll sign you out, then,” John said, picking up Sherlock’s notes. “And then we can go home?”

“Please,” Sherlock smiled. “Let’s go… to our home.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV
> 
> Sherlock moves back into 221B, and things have changed.

The place looked the same.

But it smelled different. Or, rather… it smelled more _intense_.

Sherlock paused at the top of the stairs to the lounge, watching John put his briefcase down, and take his coat off. The scent of John’s den was very much in the omega’s nose, and for the first time he felt nervous. He used to live here. But a lot had happened in his time away. His sense of smell was much, much keener. Not enough to detect hormonal changes in the people around him, or to smell fear, or an oncoming heat of a fellow omega, but on walking into the alpha’s den, Sherlock was immediately on edge.

And so was John, Sherlock could tell he was. John hung his coat up and inhaled steadily, clearly taking in the scent of Sherlock, who was fiddling with his fingers, standing still, waiting for instruction. John could have said ‘jump’ and he’d’ve said ‘how high’.

“Ok…” John rubbed his nose and cleared his throat. “You, er… You ok?”

Sherlock nodded. “It’s weird.” His fingers were itching, his insides felt fluttery, and he wanted… he just wanted to not be stood in the doorway, and to… He bit his lip, glancing at John’s neck. He wanted to scent the alpha who’s den this was. He needed to. It was like trying to hold back a sneeze.

John stepped forward, then cleared his throat again. “Sherlock…”

“Can I scent you?” Sherlock blurted out. “I feel like that’ll help, because this is your den, and I’m in your space, and –”

“God, yes,” John reached out, and Sherlock walked into his arms, barely having to reach up to sniff at John’s neck.

“Oh…” he inhaled deeply, tasting the dark scent of the alpha. The scent he had barely known before he left, now running down his nose and throat like warm liquid, soaking into his lungs. He relaxed instantly, a sense of belonging running through his bones.

And John was scenting him back. The alpha’s hands were on Sherlock’s arms, holding him firmly as he scented the omega’s throat. “Sherlock…”

“John, I…” Sherlock buried his nose into the crook of John’s neck, breathing him in as John touched up and down his arms, nose nuzzling Sherlock’s hair, his neck, the tops of his shoulders, covering Sherlock with his alpha smell as he soaked up the omega’s vanilla and citrus sweetness.

“God,” John lifted his head up, loosening his grip. “Was that too much –”

“No,” Sherlock turned his head to the side to speak. “No, that was… I feel better, now. About being here. Feels like I belong.” _To you_ , he added, silently.

John nodded, letting him straighten up. “Feels like welcoming you home.” He glanced away for a second. “Sherlock, I don’t want to push you into… I know you and…”

“Thank you,” Sherlock nodded, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “That… that was nice, though. Thank you.”

John smiled, and Sherlock could tell it was a genuine one. “Good. Did you want to check your bedroom?”

“Did you keep it like a shrine?” Sherlock teased.

“Not exactly. I did go in, I’m afraid. Washed your sheets, took the mouldy plates away, and so on. Your bed will need making up.”

Sherlock blushed, imagining John stripping his bedclothes off. Had he sniffed them? Smelled the remnants of his semen from secret late-night wanks? Sherlock decided he didn’t care. Exhaustion suddenly came over him, and he sighed, leaning his forehead against John’s shoulder. “I’m tired.”

“I know,” John patted his back. “Why don’t you take a shower? If you’re ok for me to make your bed up?”

“Ok,” Sherlock nodded.

“You remember where the towels are, and so on?”

“I do.” Sherlock gave a small wave of his hand in thanks as he went into the bathroom, started the shower up, and then walked straight back out the second door into John’s room, where the spare towels were stored in a chest of drawers. Sherlock took out a particularly fluffy one, and buried his face into it, inhaling. Like everything in the flat, it smelled strongly of John. It was so bittersweet, smelling that alpha smell. Victor had smelled of alpha, but nowhere near this strongly. He hadn’t been a mature alpha, after all. John was mature. Adult. Capable.

John was an alpha who could give Sherlock what his mind and body needed, and, for the first time, Sherlock registered what that meant. It explained the shuddering of his insides, the urge in his arms and legs to walk back into the lounge, the way his blood was rushing at the thought, and the scenting… Sherlock inhaled, trembling, the backs of his knees hitting the bed. He fell back, falling onto John’s bed, the towel still on his face, inhaling like a drowning man.

 

***

 

John put dark blue sheets on Sherlock’s bed, dressing the mattress and duvet quickly, ignoring the photographs on the desk – _Sherlock and Victor, Sherlock and Victor, Sherlock and Victor_ – even though he half-suspected Sherlock wouldn’t want to see them. He straightened the covers, smoothing them down to look nice, and then went downstairs, where he could hear the shower running.

Sherlock took long showers, he remembered. He went to make a couple of cups of cocoa, listening to the white-noise hiss of the water. It was pretty constant, actually. No sounds of water hitting a body…

John chewed the inside of his mouth, thinking. Sherlock could be having a wash, or a cry, or anything. He didn’t need a pushy alpha mothering him as he tried to wash.

He gave it another five minutes before deciding to go into his bedroom and crash about a bit, hoping to hear Sherlock make a noise in response.

Except he didn’t get to do that.

Because Sherlock was sound asleep on John’s bed, the covers wrapped over him in a classic omega nest, a towel under his head as a pillow. His pale face was flushed with sleepy warmth, and his plump lips were parted, just a little.

John put a hand to his chest, trying to ease the ache. He’d missed Sherlock so much. It had been easier to push the thought to one side than to try and deal with it. After the initial tears and shock, John had plunged himself into work and distraction. He hadn’t realised how much Sherlock’s absence had affected him. And when the omega stepped back into the flat, John’s urge to scent him had almost been overpowering. Thank god Sherlock had asked. John had been so close to pushing him down on the sofa and –

 _Time to step away_ , John told himself. He wanted to stroke Sherlock’s hair, or kiss him goodnight, or something… Just to say it was ok he was sleeping in his bed, it was fine… His bed was going to smell all of Sherlock. Oh, god.

“I missed you,” John whispered. “Welcome home, Sherlock.”

 

***

 

Mycroft oversaw handing Sherlock his laptop and clothes. They had been liberated from Victor’s house, along with his schoolwork.

“Here,” the alpha Holmes handed him a small box. “New phone, since you haven’t been able to hold onto your last one.”

“Thanks,” Sherlock put it on the table. “It’s bugged, I assume.”

“Assume what you like,” Mycroft picked up his teacup. “You look dreadful, Sherlock.”

“Thanks,” the younger Holmes scowled.

“Perhaps that was the wrong choice of words. You look… tired. Did you sleep, last night?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said guiltily. He’d woken that morning in John’s bed, soaked in his scent, the sense of comfort weighing him down so he had to drag himself from his nest and into the shower. John had gone to work, leaving a note promising to be back for four that afternoon. Sherlock had showered, and promptly climbed back into his nest, disappointed that the alpha scent seemed to have worn off a bit. Or else, he was getting used to it. He didn’t really like the idea. He preferred it fresh.

“Then what is this?” Mycroft leaned forward, nostrils flaring, and Sherlock glared having absolutely no power over Mycroft stealing information about him via scent. “Hmm. Nothing dire, at least.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“I mean you still smell like a child,” Mycroft said, not unkindly. “I mean… You’re changing, yes, but you’re not about to grow up in the next week.”

Sherlock actually felt relieved at his brother’s words, but pulled a face at him rather than show it.

Mycroft almost smiled. He sipped his tea to hide it. “Was it alright, last night? Coming back here?”

Sherlock nodded, slowly. “I felt like an intruder, mind.”

“Yes…” Mycroft glanced about the place. “If I didn’t have John’s permission to come in, and even so…” he sniffed, “there is something odd about being in another alpha’s den. I imagine for an omega it is mildly intimidating.”

“Mildly,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I wanted to… scent him, have him scent me, because then we’d smell of each other, and I’d – I’d…”

“Belong to him?”

Sherlock went red. “Is that bad?”

“No, it’s natural,” Mycroft put his cup and saucer down. “It’s a protective instinct, to look after yourself.  It’s safer for you, as an omega, to belong to someone – to have their assumed protection. You no longer live with your parents, so you have to attach to someone. And since you no longer live with Victor –”

“I wasn’t attached to Victor just for – for someone to protect me,” Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft held a hand up. “I never said –”

“You implied it,” Sherlock picked up a cushion and held it close. “I could have… I still lived with John… I didn’t have to find someone, I just… found someone.”

Mycroft stared at him for more than ten heartbeats. “You still love him, then?”

“It’s been two nights,” Sherlock sighed. “You think I’m just going to be over this?”

“You said you wanted to scent John?”

“Yes, but…” Sherlock hugged the cushion harder. “I miss him. I…” he screwed up his face, hard, fighting back the threatening tears. His throat and chest hurt, and he wanted to scream into the cushion, throw it at his brother, tell him to fuck off, beg him to hold him.

Mycroft read something in Sherlock’s body language, anyway. He got up and sat beside his brother in the sofa, wrapping an arm over his back. Sherlock leaned into the touch, seeking out the scent of kin.

“You smell wrong,” he said thickly. “Why do you smell wrong?”

“Because you’re growing up,” Mycroft said, and this time there was definite sadness in his voice. “You won’t get the same comfort from kin as before.”

“Oh…” Sherlock scented anyway, sniffing at his brother’s chest and suit, getting a little comfort from the closeness. Mycroft let him, stroking Sherlock’s hair gently.

Eventually, Sherlock pulled away with a disappointed sigh. “Thanks.”

“No problem, little brother,” Mycroft patted his arm. “I am, of course, somewhat inexperienced in affairs of the heart… But something tells me you have made a good choice in coming back here. John Watson might be an alpha, but he is far from the most aggressive of our kind. He will not, I am certain, push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

“I don’t know what I’m ready for,” Sherlock said sadly. “I had sex with Victor even though it felt awful. I scented John even though I still… love… Victor. What am I doing? I’m… awful, aren’t I?”

“You know you’re not.”

“I’m engaged to John,” Sherlock said slowly. “I wanted to scent John, I slept in his bed!”

“What?” Mycroft yelled.

“He wasn’t there,” Sherlock almost laughed. “I fell asleep, and nested in his bed.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, shut up,” Sherlock aimed a mock-punch. “I was exhausted.”

“So I gather. But I understand why this is a confusing time. Listen to me – you are not a bad person for seeking comfort. You are human, Sherlock. You are worthy of being cared for. Cared about. Loved.”

“Vic –” Sherlock swallowed hard. “Victor – Victor loved…”

“Oh, Sherlock.”

“I never said it back,” Sherlock covered his face with his hands, giving in to the sobs. “I never said – I never said –”

Mycroft gathered him up and hugged him. “He knew, Sherlock. He knew, I am sure of it. He fought to get to you, didn’t he?”

Sherlock could only nod, smearing tears onto Mycroft’s lapels.

“You don’t have to rush into anything,” Mycroft set him back on the sofa after a few minutes. “Whatever you feel for John, if anything, will happen in its own time.”

“What if I go into heat?” Sherlock wiped his face. “I’ll want him. I won’t be able to help it.”

“That… that’s not something you can pin all your hopes or worries on. If it happens… I can think of far worse outcomes for my little brother.”

“You think?” Sherlock sniffed, forcing a smile.

“Certainly. From the first time I met him, I realised he was never going to hurt you.”

Sherlock flopped back on the sofa. “I really messed this up, didn’t I?”

“No.”

Sherlock stared into the middle distance. “He was so angry that day, but in the hospital, and last night… he was kind. He should be furious, but he’s kind. What is that?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No… I’m confused. Why isn’t he angry?”

“You did invite yourself back into his house. If he wanted to be rid of you, he would have said ‘no’ to that.”

“I guess,” Sherlock pursed his lips. “What does that mean, though?”

“That, perhaps,” Mycroft said slowly, “he cares for you as more than a standard alpha for his promised omega. Perhaps John Watson cares for you… as Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock blinked at nothing, his mind swimming with four hundred thoughts at once.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV
> 
> Conversation leads to annoyance, and revelation leads to anger.

It was a relief to see Sherlock in his own clothes, again. Clean ones, that hadn’t spent the night in a drugs den. Mycroft had been over, and John spent a few minutes adjusting the furniture to try and remove the other alpha’s smell, without being super-obvious about it. Sherlock was setting up his new phone.

“I’ve got a new number,” he said, as John started up the kettle. “I’ll text it you.”

“Thanks,” John poured boiled water into two mugs. “What does Mycroft think to you coming back here?”

“He’s ok with it,” Sherlock turned the new handset off, the on again as it restarted. “If we are.”

“I am,” John stirred the drinks. “You know I am.”

“You’ve said,” Sherlock looked up and gave a tiny smile. He laced his long fingers together, and John wondered if his spidery hands were an indicator of how much height the omega had left to gain. “I was wondering…”

“Go on?”

“You know Lestrade? That police officer?”

“Detective.”

“Yes, him… I wanted to see if he took on people like me for work experience.” Sherlock blushed as he finished.

John raised his eyebrows. “Work experience? You… want to go into policing? Detecting?”

“It seems a good use of my time,” Sherlock said to the carpet.

John picked up the mugs and brought them over to the coffee table, sitting beside Sherlock on the sofa. “I… I think it’s an alright idea. It’d give you something to do in the school holidays. You still have six weeks to kill, after all…” he hesitated, a niggling worry starting in his mind.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked. He turned his lithe body so he was facing John’s side, his body language open.

John inhaled slowly, the scent of Sherlock filling his lungs. Sweeter than ever. It was only the first real day of him being home and the place smelled so intensely of him that coming home had been like walking into a cloud of airborne candy-floss. “I’m just wondering if it’s… safe.”

“Safe?”

“Yes, safe. You’re an omega of a certain age, after all, and I don’t want you to –”

“Lestrade is a beta,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Which is unusual in a police officer,” John countered. “His staff might be less noble than he’s been towards you.”

Sherlock stared, his pale eyes boring into John for a long moment. “You don’t trust me,” he said.

John rolled his eyes, and went to argue.

Which was the wrong thing to do.

“For God’s sake,” Sherlock flounced back against the sofa. “Stop parenting me! I’ve only been back twenty-four hours and you’re trying to –”

“Can you fucking blame me?” John’s eyes flashed, and he saw Sherlock flinch and cower slightly, clearly able to smell the annoyance from the alpha. “We’ve come back here to see how things go and all I’ve said is I’m worried about the behaviour of _other alphas_ , not _you_ , Sherlock. You’re growing up rapidly, and you smell…” John closed his eyes for a moment. “You smell… desirable. Not every alpha would wait until you went into heat, Sherlock. You’re… a desirable young man.”

Sherlock blinked. “I don’t… understand.”

John sighed, rolling his shoulders back a little. “I’m saying that people, alphas, will want you. Do want you. You’re a beautiful, sweet-smelling omega, who…” John stopped himself, putting a hand to his chin.

“Alphas want me,” Sherlock said slowly. “Does that include you?”

“You know it does,” John said. “You know it does, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked pleased, for a split-second, then the look vanished beneath placid coolness. “Ok…”

John cleared his throat. “So, are you going to ring him? Inspector Lestrade?”

“I am,” Sherlock nodded. “And I’ll be certain to be careful around lecherous alphas,” he grinned, giving John a deliberate once-over that made an interesting sensation race to his groin.

 

*

 

The jovial mood didn’t last. As evening came around, and Sherlock had called Inspector Lestrade (and been cheerfully invited go to down to the station twice a week to ‘assist’), his mood seemed to dip. He curled up on the sofa in a corner, checking his phone every few moments, knees up under his chin, feet bare and flat on the sofa cushion.

John was typing quietly, looking up over the screen every now and then at the sad-looking omega. He tolerated the uncomfortable mood for around half an hour, before asking.

“What’s wrong, then?”

Sherlock let out a sigh so loud and long it almost sounded sarcastic, but it wasn’t. “It’s results day, in two weeks. We have to go into school to collect them. I was just thinking about… it.”

John closed his laptop. “You mean about Victor being there?”

Sherlock paused a moment, then nodded, pressing his nose onto his knee.

A cold feeling pooled in John’s stomach, then flared like oil catching alight, flaming down his limbs. His chest tightened, and he had to bite his lip whilst he held back a jealous snarl. “Oh,” he managed to say.

Sherlock looked away, and John was unsure if he had detected his feelings or not. “He’s going to move schools. Mycroft told me. To be with his… mate.”

 _Good._ “I see.”

“But he still has to go into my school for his results…” Sherlock nosed his knees again. “I don’t want to see him.”

 _Good_. “Ok…”

“But I do want to see him. At the same time.”

 _Not so good_. John scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I’m not looking for you to fix it,” Sherlock said. “I’m just telling you. That’s why I’m… quiet.”

John put his laptop down the side of the chair. “If I could fix it… would you want me to?”

Sherlock glanced at him. “What?”

“If I could wave a wand, make it all better… Would you want me to? Put you and Victor back together?” God, even saying it hurt. As if it could happen just by John speaking about it.

Sherlock went very quiet, for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s hard to think about it, now.”

John nodded. “I imagine it is.”

Sherlock sighed, and let his legs fall to the floor, bare feet on the floorboards. “Have you ever… a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

“No one deserving of such a title,” John rolled his eyes. “I was in the army, Sherlock. You didn’t get attached.”

“You just fucked them.”

John was taken aback. “Well –”

“So, you’ve fucked other people, and that’s fine,” Sherlock sing-songed, “but when I do it, you’re angry. What’s that about?”

“That’s… I was living day to day, Sherlock, I didn’t know if I’d come home alive one deployment to the next. I didn’t know _you_.”

“I don’t feel like I know you, sometimes,” Sherlock folded his arms. “That was why I… Yeah.” He sat up, and swallowed as if his throat ached. “John… You scared me, that day. You know?”

“I do know,” John said evenly. “I was angry, Sherlock. I saw you, wrongly, as mine.”

“But if you saw me as yours, why didn’t you do something about it?”

“Because you’re –”

“Oh, don’t play the Age card again,” Sherlock huffed.

“But that is my reason. It’s not enough to want you. You have to be able to… consent. Which means wanting me, and being… legal, and… in control of your faculties.”

“You mean outside a heat,” Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “You want me to choose you… outside of a heat?”

“I didn’t realise I wanted that,” John said, blushing, “until you chose Victor outside of a heat. I think… if you’d been in heat, and desperate… I could have dealt better with that. But it wasn’t your inner omega who chose Victor. It was you – Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock looked down at his hands. “I don’t know what my inner omega is. I just feel like me.”

“It’s cliché,” John smiled, “but when you get older, you’ll realise. I used to think I’d be the calmest, most polite alpha doctor ever. Then I matured and joined the army and started fights and my parents said it was like I’d been replaced, until I learned to control it.”

“I don’t want to lose myself like that,” Sherlock said. “I know what happens. To omegas. They… we… they turn into desperate sex-addicts. They only care about sex. I – I don’t want that.”

“Sex?”

Sherlock winced, blushing. It didn’t look like a nice memory he was blushing at. “Mm.”

“You’re not interested in sex?” John raised his eyebrows. An asexual omega would be unusual. Still… sex and Sherlock in the same conversation… He was suddenly hit by the image of Sherlock lying naked and sweaty on a bed of rumpled sheets. He pushed the thought to one side. “At all?”

“Not the kind that happens in heats,” Sherlock brought his knees up again. “Not the begging, breeding, bonding kind.” He pulled a face. “Everyone talks about it. Laughs about it. Well. Most people.”

“At school?”

Sherlock sniffed in confirmation, and John realised what an idiot he’d been, not asking more about Sherlock’s bullies, and what they said and did to him. They looked down on him because he was an omega. And yet he was, by all accounts, the cleverest boy in the school. And handsome and funny and interesting, and… John gripped the arms of his chair in a sudden wave of possession.

“It isn’t always like that,” John said.

“How would you know?” Sherlock shot back. “You’ve never fucked an omega in heat, have you?”

“No,” John admitted, “but I do talk, and read, and listen. Not all omegas turn into cock-crazed individuals. You don’t have to… Don’t take everything you hear to heart.”

Sherlock nodded, hugging his legs. “It hurts, though.”

“What they say to you?”

“No,” the omega closed his eyes. “Sex.”

“In a natural heat, it wouldn’t- oh,” John stopped, seeing Sherlock’s face. “Oh, I see.” He stared for a second, watching Sherlock colour up, trying not to imagine the omega’s face contorted in pain, pain from a cock that wasn’t his own trying to get inside him…

A growl crawled up John’s throat, and rumbled in his chest. He rolled his shoulders back, trying to gather himself as Sherlock went still – letting the alpha in the room see he wasn’t a threat. He was responding more easily, now, his growing mind and body recognising the threat an angry alpha could pose to him.

John had to stand, and stride into the kitchen. He poured water into the kettle to keep his mind occupied, and turned it on, not even bothering to get mugs out.

“John…” Sherlock had followed him, standing meekly in the kitchen, pulling the front of the baggy t-shirt he slept in at the hem. “John?”

“I don’t know if I can talk to you about that, Sherlock,” John snapped, keeping his distance. “The thought of you and him… and then him _hurting_ you. Don’t you realise? I want to claim you and kill him at the same time, and it’s so…” he held a hand up, palm down. “I’m shaking, look. I can’t help it. I’m… dangerous, like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said softly. “I never thought… I didn’t think.” He took a tiny step forward. “I found it easy to talk to you, and I shouldn’t have gone there…”

He was trying, John realised. Trying to please John, trying to talk and be open, and he thought it had backfired. Why couldn’t John _ever_ do the right thing?

“No, I’m sorry,” John interrupted. “You were trusting me with information and your story… I should have respected that, not been so…”

“Alpha,” Sherlock gave a tiny smile, walking forward. He looked incredibly nervous, but reached up to touch John’s still-suspended, shaking, hand. He gently laced his pianist’s fingers into John’s broad hand, pulling it down, so they were holding hands.

John watched the whole process, his heart hammering in his chest, his pupils blown, mouth filling with saliva as he watched the young omega do this. This tiny display of dominance, of taking charge, that should have upended the balance of their relationship, but somehow helped even it out. He moved his hand a little, feeling the touch of Sherlock in his grip. Just a hand, for now.

But it was a start.

Sherlock met John’s eye, and John realised they were the same height. “Is this ok?”

“It’s very ok,” John said. “Sherlock… it’s very ok.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV
> 
> It's GCSE Results Day, and Sherlock is nervous about going back to school.

How Lestrade ever got to be a Detective Inspector, Sherlock had no idea. He missed the most obvious clues, even when they were right under his nose. Sherlock found himself pointing out obvious signs of belladonna poisoning and windows that had been smashed by a fist rather than a rock almost every time Lestrade took him out. Which was rapidly every time he was at the station.

“You really need to do proper training,” the beta told Sherlock, handing him a coffee in a paper cup as they stood beside the forensics van. “Get a degree in forensic science, or something.”

“I want to study chemistry,” Sherlock shrugged. “It’s applicable more widely.”

“And then apply to the force. I’ll give you any references you need, you’ll walk straight into a good job.”

“I don’t want a 9 to 5 job,” Sherlock sipped his scalding coffee. “I want a bit more freedom than that.”

“You think your alpha will be ok with that?” Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock hesitated. “I… don’t have one.”

“Yet. You know it’s unusual for an omega to have _any_ job, let alone something like this.” Lestrade adjusted his stance slightly. “I mean, far be it from my place to intrude, but you do get how lucky you are being able to come here, don’t you?”

“He… John isn’t my alpha. And he doesn’t tell me what to do. And even if he did, I don’t have to listen.”

“Yet.” Lestrade smiled, and sipped his drink.

Sherlock did the same, covering the blush and squirm he wanted to display. The thought of John ordering him to not do something was both terrible and enticing. He wondered if John was even capable of doing that. Since they’d held hands in the kitchen, there had been a steady increase in the amount of physical touch. Nothing major. Just a hand-hold here, a stroke of the arm there. Only that morning, John had given Sherlock a sideways hug as he saw him out of the door.

Sherlock lowered his cup. Every touch, although it sent electric pleasure through his skin, felt like cheating. He didn’t love John. He liked him well enough. Moreso, these days, because they were both doing what John called ‘trying’. And the trying was nice. The touches were nice. John was a mature alpha, who smelled like something Sherlock wanted to consume, and who was capable of taking care of him… but he wasn’t Victor. He didn’t have Victor’s lithe body, or brown skin, or deep, dark eyes. He was the alpha Sherlock needed. But wanted… that wasn’t quite on the cards, yet. Or was it? Sherlock knew he might die if the touches from John were to stop.

“You ok?” Lestrade nudged him.

“Yes,” Sherlock glared for a second, then cut it off as his brain reminded him _beta, ally_. “Fine.”

“Ok, then. Shall we go and check out this one? You ok with a dead body, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock crunched his empty cup.

 

*

 

A week later, and it was the day of Sherlock’s exam results. He woke up, and stared at the ceiling, clicking his alarm off without looking at it.

He had to be at school for eleven, get his results, and confirm his place for sixth form, should he get the right grades. He couldn’t help a nervous coil in his stomach at the thought. What if he hadn’t passed? His teachers said he was clever, and he generally did well in his essays and assignments in class, but this was an exam. He’d never done a real exam before. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed doing them. They went on for too long, and seemed to be targeted at confusing the students with the apparent simplicity of the questions.

Sherlock groaned as he got up, pulling on his dressing gown. His desk was clear. The frames and pin-board that had once sported endless photos of he and Victor were now occupying the bottom of his wardrobe. He didn’t quite have the heart to throw them away.

Sentiment.

John was already up, having taken a day off to wait for Sherlock to come home with his results. He was just setting the table with cereal, toast and fruit. “Morning,” he smiled, and Sherlock felt a warmth spread through his chest from being looked after.

“Morning,” he took a seat and helped himself to brown toast.

“So… big day,” John set two mugs of tea down.

“Apparently so,” Sherlock started to spread butter. “For some reason it makes perfect sense to this government to restrict a person’s future to a result dependent on their performance in tests as a sixteen-year-old.”

“It is stupid, I agree,” John sighed. “But you’ll do fine, Sherlock. I’ve seen your homework, you’re a genius. Far too good for them.”

“Mm,” Sherlock bit his toast. “Lestrade wants me to go to university.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” John nodded.

Sherlock looked up. “Honestly?”

“Why wouldn’t you go?” John blinked. “You’re clever enough, you could go to one in London so you could stay living here, if you wanted.”

Sherlock stared, setting his slice down. “You’d let me go to university?”

John almost grinned. “Well… yeah. Is that so surprising?”

“It’s… Lestrade said alphas don’t like omegas having jobs, and so on… Uni would take a lot of time.”

John put his head slightly on one side. “Not all alphas think like that.”

“Oh…” Sherlock picked his toast up again. “Even if… you had a mate, you’d let your mate… work?”

“I would,” John said gently. He sipped his tea. “I will.”

Sherlock felt himself turn very red as he looked at the table.

 

*

 

“Good luck,” John stood as Sherlock came down the stairs.

“Thanks,” Sherlock touched his hair nervously. He hadn’t meant to spend so much time on his hair. He hadn’t really thought about why he was putting on the clothes that made him look young and sweet and attractive. Though, clearly, they were working, as John’s eyes gave him a very deliberate once-over, and the alpha cleared his throat.

“You, er… you look nice.”

Sherlock suddenly regretted his choices. John would think he was dressing like this for Victor. Which… he sort of was… but not… really?

Ok, he was, but he still felt guilty about it.

“Thank you.” He rubbed his nose. “Um… I’ll see you in a bit? I don’t think I’ll be long…”

“Take your time,” John stepped forward, and Sherlock did the same, accepting the invasion into his space. “And whatever you get, I’ll be proud of you, ok?”

“Sure.” Sherlock pulled a mock-hopeful face, which didn’t last. “Unless I fail horribly and get twelve U grades, right?”

“Then…” John sucked in a breath, and took Sherlock into his arms, shuddering as he exhaled, clearly tasting Sherlock’s scent, “then, I’ll be proud you stuck with school and took the exams, regardless. Ok?”

Sherlock stood stiffly for a second, then relaxed into John’s touch, absorbing the warmth and pleasantness of the embrace. He sniffed at the hinge of John’s jaw, catching a scent of darkness and cinnamon-like spice, which quickly vanished as he failed to detect it further. John’s hands were on his back, holding him gently, so he could pull back if he needed to, but he didn’t want to. He inhaled along John’s neck again, and felt John do the same to him, a soft scenting that felt like home.

“I have to go,” Sherlock breathed.

John nodded, dropping his arms after a moment. He looked into Sherlock’s face and touched his jaw with a finger. “You’ll be fine, Sherlock. About it all. You’ll be fine. And I’ll be here, when you get back.”

“Thank you…” Sherlock let his gaze drop to John’s mouth as he spoke. “I’ll…”

“Yeah.”

Sherlock turned and went down the steps, feeling as if he had forgotten something.

He walked the route to school he had missed over the past few weeks, skipping over familiar cracks in the pavement, and rounding the bins where people were always sick. He was there quicker than he thought. Maybe his legs were longer. There were boys he recognised all milling about. Some with their envelopes, some gearing themselves up to go in.

“Alright, Holmes?” someone called.

He gave a small wave, wondering who, if anyone, knew what had transpired over the summer. He couldn’t help checking the area for Victor, but couldn’t see him. There was always, he realised, the chance he had had his results posted to him if he lived with his new mate.

Sherlock went into the building, and gave his name to the beta woman with the results packages. He confirmed his student number, and was handed a brown envelope.

“Good luck, dear,” she said absently, already turning to the student behind him.

Sherlock carried the envelope to a corner of the room, and turned it over in his hands. He started to open it carefully, tearing at a corner.

“Sherlock!”

He knew that voice.

Heart sinking like lead, he looked up. “Hello, Victor.”

A very tall, very broad, alpha was looking down at him with a friendly smile. He was smartly dressed, and appeared older than sixteen, with a bonding ring on his left hand, and a vague scent about him that meant he was off-limits.

Sherlock wished to every god mankind had ever conjured up that he could smell it more clearly. If he could identify Victor as bonded, he wouldn’t now be looking at him with pain lancing through his body like steel flames. He wouldn’t be looking over the body of the boy – now man – he loved with a twisted kind of torment that made him feel sick and desperate.

“You look well,” Victor smiled, genuinely having no interest in the omega in front of him. He had his own, mature, mate. He wasn’t interested in this child. “Are you back at John’s?”

“No thanks to your parents,” Sherlock snapped, then regretted it.

Victor looked mildly chastised. “It was a shitty thing to do. Did you get Mycroft to pick you up?”

Sherlock was so close to telling him. About his night in a drug den, his injuries, and fear, and having to be picked up by the police the next day, but what was the point? What was the point in anything? “…yeah.”

“Nice. I’m just here for my results, and then I’m back up north. Just thought I’d say hi, you know? Amy’s pregnant, I don’t like to leave her for too long.”

 _Pregnant_. Sherlock’s womb hurt. “Oh… con – congratulations.”

“Thanks. You’ll be next,” he grinned.

“No.” Sherlock shook his head.

“Oh, ok. Well, see you later, Sherlock. Maybe catch you on Facebook, or something?” Victor held a hand out.

Sherlock took it, feeling the increase in the size of Victor’s hand, the warmth that was familiar and so missed he wanted to dissolve on the spot. “Sure.”

Victor gave a single shake, then let go with a carefree smile, going off to join the line for his results.

Sherlock hoped he failed every single one.

 

*

 

The omega slammed the door to 221B as he got back, kicking his shoes off and mooching up the stairs in a huge sulk. His still-unopened envelope was tucked under his arm.

“You’re back quick,” John looked up from his paper as Sherlock slumped onto the sofa. “Oh god… are you ok?”

“No,” Sherlock frowned, his lower lip jutting out. “I…”

“Not a good result?”

“I don’t even know my fucking result,” Sherlock flung the envelope onto the coffee table. “I saw… him. And…” his face suddenly crumpled, like a wet paper bag.

“Oh, Sherlock…” John got up and went to sit next to him, putting an arm around him quickly. “Sherlock, I’m sorry.”

“He looked at me like I was nothing,” Sherlock started to sob, curling towards John’s body, knees up and over the alpha’s legs. “Like we never had anything. He…”

“Shh,” John helped him onto his lap, and Sherlock let him. He buried his face into John’s neck.

“He… he’d changed, so much, and he’s going to be a father already, and he just… he almost didn’t recognise me!” Sherlock grabbed a fistful of John’s shirt. “Oh, _god_.”

“I’m so sorry,” John said again, holding him close. “People change so much when they’re bonded. It’s a mystery. But they do change. Sometimes not for the better.”

“I didn’t think he’d be the same,” Sherlock looked up and wiped his face on his sleeve. “But it was like he’d forgotten…”

“He’s had to, for self-preservation. He’s got a mate. Every other person he’s ever looked at is now a footnote. I’m sorry, Sherlock. That’s devotion that only comes from a bond. I am so, so sorry.”

Sherlock nodded, drying his eyes again. He looked back at the envelope on the table. “I couldn’t even rub my results in his face.”

“Do you want to open it now?” John stroked his back gently.

“Can you do it?” Sherlock asked, lowering his gaze as he looked at John. “Please? Just tell me… if it’s good or bad?”

“Sure.” John shifted Sherlock on his lap, and picked the envelope up.

Sherlock hid his face in the crook of the alpha’s neck, inhaling the pure, calming scent. Already the agony of seeing Victor was wearing off. He was safe. Safe in John’s nest. Safe in his arms.

He could hear the envelope being torn open. Paper being unfolded.

“Ok. Wow,” John said, his voice slightly unsteady. “Wow.”

“Is it bad?” Sherlock said, his lips moving against John’s skin, making them both tremble.

“It’s… Sherlock, just look.”

The omega did so, following the command without thinking, looking at the paper in John’s hand.

Twelve neat A* grades looked back at him.

Sherlock stared at them, counting them three times, checking off the subjects in his head.

“See?” John said, sounding far away. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I…” Sherlock reached out and took the sheet, reading it again, his hands shaking. “I did it.”

“You did.”

“I passed them all,” he looked around at John, his eyes starting to blur with fresh tears. “I… I can do it.”

“Sherlock,” John’s hand was suddenly at the back of the omega’s head, fingers tight in his dark curls, “You can do anything you dream of. I swear, you can do _anything_.”

Sherlock stared back, his mouth open slightly.

Then he planted his lips straight onto John’s.

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation.

John kissed back with the desperation of a man being given everything he’d ever wanted, and Sherlock let him, kissing back as much as he could, moving to straddle John’s legs on the sofa, the two of them holding one another’s heads, necks, backs, hair and sides and everything, and _oh god_ , Sherlock was going to die.

Perfect result.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisses, confusion, growing up, and jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I feel I need to mention here that Sherlock is four months off being seventeen, and John is thirty-one. I've not tagged this as underage because the AOC in the UK is 16, BUT proceed with caution if you are averse to under-18 sexual activity and age-difference smut.

John kissed back, hardly daring to believe what was happening. Sherlock’s skinny legs were either side of his own, his long, spidery, fingers on his face, and _jesus_ , John was getting so hard. His cock strained in his trousers, excitement over a kiss, a touch after so damn long sending him practically into rut.

He let out a moan, breaking their kiss for only an instant to look into Sherlock’s eyes. Those cool blue eyes that were shining with want. He wasn’t saying _no_ …

Sherlock surged forward, and John’s mind almost switched off as they kissed again. The idea that Sherlock _wanted_ this… He rolled his hips up, against the omega’s arse, feeling a responding hardness against his stomach, the feel of which was like being set on fire. Sherlock was turned on. Sherlock… that beautiful omega. John’s omega.

“Mine,” John suddenly snarled against Sherlock’s throat, making the omega gasp and shudder at the possessive pheromones and powerful need rolling from the alpha beneath him.

“John…” Sherlock whimpered, his fists clutching John’s shirt, breath coming in tiny panting bursts.

“Mine. My Sherlock,” John ran a hand through the omega’s dark curls, gripping at the base of his skull. “My Sherlock, my omega…”

Sherlock’s eyes were shining. “I…” He pulled John closer, his lower lip trembling. “John, I…”

“My beautiful, clever, perfect omega,” John breathed, kissing Sherlock’s cheek, his jaw, moving down his pale neck. “So proud of you. You’ve done so well, you’re so brilliant…”

Sherlock shuddered, practically melting against John’s mouth and hands, not putting up the slightest resistance as John pushed him sideways, down onto the sofa, and climbed on top of him. He lay on the cushions, looking debauched. His clothes were askew, lips bruised red and throat blotched red with kisses and pressure.

John wanted nothing more than to sink his fangs into the curve of that beautiful throat and claim this boy for himself.

And yet…

He bent down and scented Sherlock thoroughly, groaning as Sherlock raised a leg to allow John closer to his crotch area. John’s erection bumped against Sherlock’s pelvis, and he firmly ground down on the pressure of Sherlock’s hard cock, making the omega cry out – such a high, desperate cry. John licked and nipped at Sherlock’s throat and jaw, tasting immaturity mixed with lust, and desire mixed with fear, and a lack of heat mixed with budding sexuality that tasted forbidden and wrong and right and John couldn’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” Sherlock breathed, lifting his chin. “Please. Please, John…”

“Oh god, Sherlock…” John slipped a hand under the omega’s oversized t-shirt, feeling his smooth, cool skin. “You’re…”

“I want this,” Sherlock insisted, arching his back. “Please…”

“Fuck,” John scraped his teeth down Sherlock’s jaw. “Sherlock… I want you, but… I don’t want to hurt you. You’re not – ”

“You can bite me,” Sherlock bent his head to the side, and John almost lost it. “You can.”

“Jesus,” he tore his eyes away from the sight, his cock throbbing in his pants, a scream in his brain telling him to bite this boy immediately. “I… You don’t…”

“Just do it,” Sherlock let out a sob. “You might as well do it now… I’m –”

“Sherlock…” John felt disappointment wash through him. “You don’t have to do this. Not now. I’m proud of you, but you don’t need to bond with me.”

Sherlock sniffed, turning his head back a little. “But you want me.”

“Yes –”

“You want me, I – I see it all the time, in your eyes, in your body…” Sherlock glanced down at John’s still-obvious erection. “You could just have me. I – I’ve shown you I’m clever, I’m… I’m no longer with…”

“Sherlock,” John said softly, “five minutes ago you were crying because Victor blanked you. What’s going on?”

Sherlock stared, giving a single blink. “I… I don’t know.”

John smiled, trying to ignore the ache in his cock. “I guessed as much. Look, Sherlock… You know how I feel about you. I think you’re the most special, clever, amazing omega – no, person – I’ve ever met. And because I think that, I’m not going to bite you to help you get over a break-up, ok?”

Sherlock’s nostrils flared. “That’s – that’s not what –”

“Maybe not consciously,” John pushed a lock of the omega’s hair back.

“I felt safe, with you,” Sherlock touched John’s Adam’s apple. “When you held me.”

Affection and protective instinct surged through John, and he kissed Sherlock on the forehead. “I know. I want to keep you safe.”

“But you’ll let me suffer heartache,” Sherlock mocked, softly.

“I’m not going anywhere, lovely.”

Sherlock sighed, rolling onto his side, and John slid beside him, holding him gently from behind. The omega felt fragile and thin and young and precious… John still wanted to claim him, but his rational head knew it would be selfish. He softly scented the omega instead, inhaling his tangerine scent, and sighing in want and need.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said after a while.

“What for?”

“Being a cock-tease.”

John snorted. “What? You’re not a cock-tease!”

“I kissed you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you had to do anything else?”

“…what do you mean?”

“You don’t have to have sex just because you kiss someone,” John said. “You don’t have to go all the way because you’ve given someone _one_ green light.”

Sherlock shifted a bit in John’s arms. “But… you’re my fiancé.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m supposed to be bonded to you already,” Sherlock sounded confused. “Weren’t you just waiting for me to… prove it was ok?”

“No,” John kissed the back of Sherlock’s neck. “I’m not _waiting_ , Sherlock. I’m not on a clock for you. We don’t have to one day flip and switch and be all over one another. We can do this, if you want to, as slow as you like.”

Sherlock turned over in John’s arms, to face him. “I’d like that. I think.”

“So… you didn’t go slow, with Victor?”

“We kissed,” Sherlock blushed. “But it was always a secret, and doing anything else wouldn’t have been…”

John growled involuntarily.

“…and when we talked about… being mature enough to… we just did it.”

John’s growl crescendo-ed into a snap that ended with a fierce alpha kiss to Sherlock’s jaw. “Uh… sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Sherlock smiled. “I know why it upsets you. I just need to tell you.”

John nodded. He kissed Sherlock on the nose. “You can always tell me things, Sherlock. I don’t want to scare you off doing that.”

“You haven’t yet,” Sherlock smiled, tucking his lips away, shyly. “Not quite yet.”

 

*

 

“Have fun, won’t you?” John watched Sherlock pull a face in the mirror.

“As if,” Sherlock straightened his tie. “Dinner with Mummy and Mycroft is never fun.”

“At least the food will be nice?”

“It’ll all be French,” Sherlock sighed in martyrdom.

John raised his newspaper to hide his grin. Three weeks after Sherlock’s results, and he’d finally relented to going out to a celebratory meal with his family. John had had to tell him to agree to go – Sherlock hadn’t seen his mother since last summer, and his brother since his escapades on the streets.

“You need to go, Sherlock,” he insisted. “You mum will be missing you.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have given me away, then,” Sherlock snapped, storming off to his room and staying there for hours in a teenage strop.

The strops had been increasing in frequency. Sherlock would have to be coaxed into speaking, and peeling himself away from his phone or laptop (working on things for Lestrade, apparently). Except when his mood flipped and he suddenly became the clingiest omega John had ever known, draping himself around John’s neck like a scarf as he tried to cook, or read, or brush his teeth. The mood swings were accompanied by John discovering Sherlock was using his razor (he bought him his own, leaving it on the side of the sink, and neither of them mentioned it), and the discovery of Sherlock one day loading his bedding into the washing machine, trying to act natural when John could smell omega semen, and the scent of it almost made him drop his mug. Sherlock’s voice wobbled like a flexing record, erring on the side of a deep tone that sent weird feelings through John’s bones. The last thing was Sherlock’s height. In the space of a few weeks he had shot up as if fired out of a cannon, growing out of all his clothes and shoes so that he was forced to go shopping, choosing to buy more fitted shirts and suits instead of his oversized jeans and t-shirts. John now had to look _up_ to speak to Sherlock, and he found that rather than it being intimidating to his inner alpha, he rather enjoyed seeing Sherlock’s obvious maturity.

The doorbell rang.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “He’s going to make some awful scene.”

“I do hope so,” John went to answer the door to the other alpha.

“Doctor Watson,” Mycroft Holmes said amicably, staying firmly on the doorstep. John nodded, stepping to the side to allow the alpha in.

“He’s just about ready,” John said.

“I do hope he’s appropriately –” Mycroft stopped at the top of the stairs. “-dressed.”

“Oh, do shut up,” Sherlock turned, having lost the tie, his sky-blue shirt showing off his slender frame. “I know how to dress for dinner.”

Mycroft put on a fake smile. “I never said you didn’t. However, last time Mummy took you out, you wore shorts and a baseball t-shirt.”

“Shall I change?” Sherlock drawled, sarcasm rolling off his tongue.

“Please don’t, little brother. And before I forget,” Mycroft reached into his inside jacket pocket, and drew out a small box, wrapped with a silver ribbon. “Congratulations, on your results.”

“What is this? Poison?” Sherlock took it and unwrapped it, opening the box. “Oh.”

“Victorian slides of the effects of various _poisons_ ,” Mycroft examined his nails. “I do hope you’ll put them to good use. I hear you are an increasingly valuable asset to New Scotland Yard.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Mycroft,” Sherlock closed the box carefully, and put it on the mantelpiece. John caught him giving the present a tiny smile. “Shall we?”

“Yes. Doctor Watson, I’ll have him back by midnight.”

“You’d better,” John said, a touch more aggressively than he’d intended. He saw Sherlock bite his lip and glance at him. “Um, just a second…”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and went down the stairs.

Sherlock stood still, hands behind his back as John walked over to him, taking him into his arms.

“You look so beautiful,” John kissed his throat. “Don’t run away with a strange alpha, will you?”

“How strange is ‘strange’?” Sherlock breathed, his pulse quickening under John’s lips.

“No one who isn’t me,” John ran a hand down Sherlock’s back.

“Difficult to agree to,” Sherlock pressed against John as he spoke. “You don’t know who I might meet.”

“Stop making me jealous,” John pressed back, his envious arousal obvious. “Do you want me to wait up for you?”

“Please,” Sherlock nodded. “With hot chocolate?”

“Such a demanding omega,” John smiled. “Ok.”

“See you later,” Sherlock peeled himself away. “Bye.”

“Bye,” John smiled. “Love you.”

Sherlock froze.

John put a hand to his mouth.

Time crawled to a stop.

And by the time it started again, an impatient Mycroft was beeping the car horn.

“I have to go,” Sherlock rasped.

“Yeah,” John said, forcing his voice to work. “Take – take care.”

Sherlock nodded, not looking back as he went down the stairs and got into his brother’s car.

John sat on the sofa with his head in his hands.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV
> 
> Sherlock is thrown by John's words, and there is a nasty incident at school.

“You took your time,” Mycroft said, acidly. “What were you doing up there. No, wait, I’ve changed my mind: I don’t want to know.”

“John said he loves me,” Sherlock said, staring at the seat in front.

The car started to move.

Mycroft’s head turned so slowly you could hear the click of each vertebrae. “I beg your pardon?”

“He said ‘love you’,” Sherlock repeated. “To me.”

Mycroft stared. “And what did you say back?”

“Nothing!” Sherlock shrieked. “I didn’t say… he looked shocked, like it just slipped out.”

“I see…” Mycroft looked back into the middle distance. “And he has not said this before?”

“No.”

More silence, the car rumbling along the road.

“And he looked shocked? You think this was a mistake? A slip of the tongue? Or something he feels, but did not mean to say?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock laced his fingers together. “He… he just said it, and then we didn’t say anything, and then we said ‘bye’, it’s a nightmare.”

Mycroft clicked his tongue. “Fancy having alphas falling for you left, right and centre. Honestly, Sherlock.”

“As if this is my fault,” the omega pouted. “I don’t walk about with a big ‘love me’ sign on my head.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft glanced at him. “But still… perhaps Dr Watson harboured this sentimentality for you before you absconded with Mr Trevor. Did you consider that?”

“He fancied me, but I doubt he loved me.”

“Really. Exactly how did he take care of you, again?”

Sherlock took his turn to go quiet, then.

Mycroft looked out of the window. “We’re almost there. Sherlock, if you could at least try to put a decent face on for Mummy, that would be much appreciated. She’s terribly worried that you haven’t bonded, yet. She’ll hardly recognise you in that suit, besides.”

Sherlock groaned, and shut his eyes as they neared the restaurant.

 

*

 

When Sherlock arrived home, close to midnight, carrying a giftbag full of expensive and breakable presents, John was asleep on the sofa. The TV was on, blaring silently, showing the news. The remains of John’s evening – a gin and tonic in a tin, and evidence of a reheated lasagne slice – were still on the coffee table.

Sherlock felt a pang of guilt. He should have asked John to go with him. They were mates-to-be, after all.

He put his bag down, and took John’s plates and litter away, putting them in the sink to deal with later. He then dithered, wondering if he should wake the alpha, or not.

Sherlock settled on getting the duvet from John’s bedroom, and covering John over with it, so he wouldn’t get cold. He turned the TV off, and stood looking at the older man, in the dark.

“Do you love me, really?” Sherlock whispered.

John didn’t even snore in reply.

Sherlock gave a tiny smile, then went upstairs to his own, cold bed.

 

*

 

Unluckily for Sherlock, the next day was the first day back at school. He got himself up, and found an empty sofa in the living room. A note from John on the counter read:

 

_Sherlock –_

_Gone into work early so I can be back when you come home. Have a great first day, and I’ll see you later._

_JW x_

No ‘love’, then. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pocketed the note, drinking orange juice straight from the carton before leaving for school. There was no uniform for Sixth Formers, and so Sherlock was wearing one of his new suits, without the tie, along with a black winter coat and scarf, as it was an unusually cold September day. He passed a few tiny lads on their very first day, collected his timetable from the office, and found his way to the Sixth Form Common Room.

How very ordinary this all was.

Except it wasn’t, and the first lesson proved it.

Sherlock was in Chemistry (one of the four A-Levels he was taking), taking notes on the teacher’s lecture, when it happened.

He’d been able to smell something for a few minutes – like candle-smoke, or burnt-out matches – but put it down to the chemicals around the room.

He did not expect the smell to point to an omega going into heat.

“Oh, fuck!” a high-pitched cry came from across the room as Toby, the only other omega in the class, stood in horror, looking as though he’d wet his pants. But… that wasn’t piss. That was…

“Oh my god,” Sherlock breathed.

It was pandemonium.

The beta teacher hit an alarm behind his desk.

The four alpha boys who had reached maturity in the room were on their feet, snarling at one another, one of them making a bee-line straight for Toby, who panicked and pushed his chair at him.

Sherlock stood, grabbing the arm of the closest alpha boy, dragging him backwards.

“Fuck off!” the alpha turned, fist raised to hit him, caught sight of Sherlock’s omega face, and hesitated.

Sherlock punched him hard on the nose, breaking it under his knuckles. He stepped over the alpha as Toby was shielded by several beta boys, who seemed to be acting on instinct, protecting their omega ally.

The classroom door crashed open, and four teachers, all betas, ran in. The two strongest ones went to restrain the alpha students, whilst the others bundled Toby out of the room, his eyes wide with shock, trousers soaked to the skin by the stuff pouring out of him.

It was horrendous.

Sherlock felt a throb of his insides in sympathy – Toby didn’t have an arranged mate, he was at school on a scholarship, and if his parents didn’t come for him quickly, he could be mated to one of the school bullies in the next hour.

Sherlock swallowed hard.

“Back – back to your seats, everyone…” the teacher tried to take control back of the boys, but there was no use. The alpha students were sniffing around Toby’s desk, glancing at the door as if wondering how they could sneak off to find him. “Door’s locked,” the teacher stammered. “As you well know, it’ll stay locked for the next hour, so…” He gave up. “Just talk amongst yourselves.” He sat down hard, and took a sip of his cold coffee.

Sherlock staggered back to his own chair, his knees feeling rather weak. One of the beta boys caught his eye and gave him an encouraging smile. Sherlock could only nod as he slumped at his desk.

He saw one of the alphas touch the wet seat where Toby had been, then lewdly lick his fingers, his eyes going dark at the apparently desirable taste.

“Sit down!” the teacher barked, and the boys eventually slunk back to their seats.

“You next, Holmes,” one of them sneered as he sat close by.

“Nope,” Sherlock popped the word out of his mouth.

“Ha. You’re on the edge, I can fucking smell it. Never thought Toby’d beat you to it, mind…” the alpha inhaled, and shuddered. “What – you think you’ll have a nice quiet first heat at home with your alpha-fiancé? You’re at school more than you’re at home. And if you have it in the middle of lunch, or in P.E…. You’d be begging for a knot.”

“Fuck off,” Sherlock snapped, wishing he could think of something wittier to say back. He looked hard at the alpha. “I see your own omega mother is pregnant, again? And with your father making so many trips abroad, how on earth did he get pregnant? Did an angel appear? Or does Mummy take on alphas on the side? Well…” he looked the alpha over, “I don’t see much of your mother’s mate in your face.”

“You shut up.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time an omega’s played away,” Sherlock smirked.

“You’d know,” the alpha boy shot back. “Fucking Victor Trevor behind your fiance’s back?” He leered, and the grin fell off Sherlock’s face. “Oh yeah, I heard about that. You omegas are all whores for cock at the end of the day, doesn’t matter where it comes from. Fuck, you couldn’t even wait to have a heat. Did he have to force it up your tight little cunt?”

Sherlock snapped. He grabbed the boy by the hair and slammed his face down onto the table.

“Sherlock!” the teacher stood.

“My face!” the alpha boy screamed, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, chips of tooth scattering on the table top.

“Sherlock, go to the office!”

“The doors are locked,” Sherlock pointed out calmly.

“Then…” the teacher looked about. “Then go and sit in _my_ office. Now.”

Sherlock packed up his bag and went to sit in the tiny cupboard-sized office. He could just about see the teacher and another boy trying to stem the bleeding before the doors were unlocked from the central unit, and they led the boy away to the nurse.

The teacher looked in at Sherlock when the students were gone. “What the hell’s gotten into you, Sherlock Holmes?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s the first day of term and you’ve knocked Bradley’s tooth out. You’re in serious trouble, young man.”

“I gathered.”

“Did he provoke you?”

“Of course he did,” Sherlock snapped. “Can you expect an omega to sit beside an alpha boy who’s just licked omega slick off his hand and not have to endure something?” It was Sherlock’s only defence, and he knew it. Blame the hormones in the air.

He couldn’t afford to get expelled.

The teacher sighed. “Look, I know it’s difficult, when that sort of thing happens –”

“That was the first time I’d seen it,” Sherlock said, making himself sound innocent.

“Really? I see…” the teacher nodded. “You’ll have to see if Bradley’s parents want this pursuing, Sherlock. Go to your next lesson.”

“I’ve got a free,” Sherlock said, picking his bag up.

“Then go study, or something. And for god’s sake, no more fighting.”

 

*

 

Sherlock went and sat around the back of the gym. Or at least, that was his plan. He rounded the building and walked into a cloud of smoke, which made him cough.

“Sorry, Holmes,” someone wafted the smoke away. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It’s ok, Oliver,” Sherlock forced a smile at the beta boy. “I was just looking for somewhere quiet to make a call.” _Lies_.

“Ah, right.” Oliver lifted the roll-up to his mouth again. “You ok? Heard about what you did to Bradley. He had that coming.”

“He’s a twat,” Sherlock sighed. “And I think he’s going to try and get me expelled, now.”

“He won’t,” Oliver snorted. “You’re too clever. Ms Tressle isn’t about to expel you. Here,” he offered the cigarette. “Calm your nerves.”

“I don’t smoke,” Sherlock held a hand up.

“It’s not nicotine,” Oliver said.

Sherlock looked at him and frowned in curiosity. “Oh.” He took the twist of paper.

“Don’t inhale too sharply.”

He sucked on the thing, feeling heat rush into his lungs. He handed it back and exhaled in a cloud of smoke. “Thanks,” he croaked.

“You’ve not thrown up, that’s admirable,” Oliver laughed. “So many kids go green when they try it. Or grey.”

“I’ve obviously got an incredible tolerance,” Sherlock shrugged, wondering when he was supposed to start feeling relaxed. “Can I..?”

“Sure, you can finish it, if you like. Only a few puffs left in it.”

Sherlock thanked him, and they stood together, slagging off the boys in their classes until the bell rang for the next period, and Sherlock realised he was properly stoned.

“Oh, no…” he put a hand to his head. “Shit, how do you… come right again?”

“Time and experience, I’m afraid,” Oliver handed him a can of deodorant, and Sherlock stared at it for a moment before catching on and spraying his clothes to try and mask the smell.

“Thanks.”

“No worries. You want any more, you know where I am. You’re not bumming another half off me,” Oliver grinned, and sauntered off in the direction of his English class.

Sherlock stood on the path, trying not to wobble. Maths. He had to get to Maths. Where was Maths? Where was he now?

“Ok…” he said aloud. “Time for school.” Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, he walked up the path towards the school buildings, and probably would have made it to Maths where he could sit quietly and recover, if Ms Tressle hadn’t caught sight of him.

“Sherlock Holmes!”

“Yes, miss?” he managed, weakly.

“My office, immediately,” she snapped, nostrils flaring. “I’ve just had Bradley Trent’s mother on the phone, telling me his son needs a false front tooth.”

“He could get a gold one,” Sherlock suggested.

Ms Tressle went purple, swelling like a bullfrog. “You’re being suspended, Sherlock. And it’s only the first day of term. Dr Watson is on his way to collect you. This time you’re being suspended for a _week_. And you will do the work to make up.” She roared at Sherlock all the way to her office, making him wince and want to cry. Surely this was the drug making him sad? He didn’t normally feel this…

“Are you crying?” she asked, helping Sherlock to a seat outside her office. “Sherlock, you’re too old for this sort of behaviour, even if you are an omega.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock blubbed, unable to stop the overwhelming sorrow. “He was so unkind, miss, he… he said…”

The Head Teacher’s expression softened. “This was in the class with Toby Adams, yes?”

Sherlock nodded. “He – he said I’d be next, and he’d…” he covered his face with his hands, no longer sure if he was putting on the act of telling the story in his defence or not.

She sighed. “I might be able to reduce your punishment, Sherlock, if that is the case. Are you being honest with me?”

“Yes!” Sherlock didn’t think he could remember how to lie at that minute.

“Then consider your suspension reduced to two days. You can wait here for Dr Watson.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock snuffled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

 

*

 

John was livid.

For starters, he could smell the cannabis on Sherlock’s clothes. And then he went to town about him being suspended again.

Sherlock could barely listen. He was woozy and felt nauseated in the back of the cab, his vision swimming so much he had to shut his eyes.

“Sherlock, are you listening to me?” John yelled.

“No,” Sherlock admitted.

“Fucksake. I pick you up for fighting, yet again, and you’ve been smoking drugs. What else have you been up to, today?”

“A boy went into heat in Chemistry,” Sherlock told the carpeted ceiling of the car. Why did they do that? Carpet the ceiling? So weird.

John looked at him. “Oh… Was everything ok?”

“The alpha boys tried to get him,” Sherlock said tonelessly. “He was scared. The teacher tried to stop them… we all tried…”

“Shit,” John breathed. “Was he ok?”

“He was. Just about. They took him away. I don’t know where he is, now.”

“I see,” John went quiet. “And you broke that other boy’s tooth… after that?”

“He said things to me. I didn’t like it.”

“And then you smoked-”

“Yes, but I didn’t go looking for it,” Sherlock opened a bleary eye. “I just found it. Fucking shoot me.”

John let out an annoyed sigh.

Sherlock carried on talking. “You said you loved me, but I don’t even know if that’s true, because you send me to school where I could go into heat at any second, surrounded by alpha boys who’d fuck me and bond with me and you’d not even get a look in, it doesn’t matter if we’re engaged or not, you won’t do anything, you won’t do _anything_ and I’m scared! I’m scared, John, I’m really, really scared…” Sherlock started crying again, leaning towards the alpha for comfort.

He found it.

John pulled him close, scenting at his hair and neck, kissing his face, tasting his tears. “I think you need to sober up, first,” he said. “And then… we need a chat. Ok?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV
> 
> The "Chat" happens.
> 
>  
> 
> *pulls party popper*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I could actually cry. I can't believe this fic has broken ten thousand views. This is incredible, and I'm so, so grateful to each and every person who reads this fic, especially if you take the time to leave kudos or a comment, it really means the world to me. Thank you all so, so much. xxxx

John helped Sherlock up the stairs, and made him change his stinking clothes whilst he made them both coffee. He set the mugs down as Sherlock came in, smelling strongly of generic deodorant, and his own sharp citrus and vanilla scent mixed together. It wasn’t entirely unappealing.

“Coffee,” John indicated. Sherlock sat down, and took two biscuits, putting them both in an once.

“’hanks,” he managed to say.

John shook his head, smiling despite his (albeit fading) irritation. “Sherlock… what you said in the car…”

“It scares me, ok?” Sherlock picked up another biscuit. “What happened today… I don’t want that. I never thought I was going to end up like that. Like this.”

“You mean having a spontaneous heat.”

“Yes,” Sherlock bit his cookie. “I know I don’t exactly stay out of fights, but… if they all came at me, and I was having… I don’t want to end up with them. I don’t want it to _be_ one of them. I want it to be… with someone who loves me.”

John was very quiet, a rushing noise in his ears,

“You said it,” Sherlock swallowed, wiping crumbs from his mouth. “Yesterday. I heard you.”

“I did say… that…” John said carefully. “I understand if it was difficult to hear –”

“It wasn’t difficult to hear,” Sherlock said, suddenly very interested in the carpet. “It’s… it’s never a bad thing, to know someone… feels that way.” He looked up. “Did you mean it?”

John smiled. “I meant it. It wasn’t how I wanted to tell you, but… I mean it. I do… love you.”

Sherlock stared, his eyes going glassy.

“You don’t have to say anything,” John said quickly, his chest hurting. “Honestly, you don’t.”

“I don’t know what I’m _supposed_ to say,” Sherlock brushed at his eyes. “I don’t know what I feel. I mean, I like you, and I like kissing you, and…”

John went over to the sofa, taking Sherlock into his arms, forcing him to stand. “Sherlock, look at me, sweetheart. Please?”

Sherlock complied, his omega obedience making John feel like crushing him to his chest. “John…”

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes,” John said clearly. “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I should have told you sooner, but I was a coward. A scared coward, who thought he was doing the right thing by avoiding you, giving you what I thought was space.”

Sherlock nodded, tears running down his face.

“I am so sorry for not telling you sooner,” John thumbed away one of Sherlock’s tears. “Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t need to,” Sherlock said thickly. “I know why you did… what you did. I – I can’t say sorry for what happened with me and – and Victor, because I’m not sorry, though.”

“I don’t expect you to be,” John said sadly. “I can’t ask that of you.” He stroked Sherlock’s hair back. “And I won’t.” He leaned up slightly (up! How strange) and gently nosed at Sherlock’s cheek, scenting his salty tears, and his sorrow and confusion. His quiet omega acceptance.

“John…” Sherlock turned his face.

And their lips met. Slow, and kind, and gentle at first.

Then more insistent, Sherlock’s arms locking around John’s neck as their mouths opened in the sort of synchronicity that shouldn’t exist outside of films. Sherlock’s knees wobbled, and John braced them both, holding Sherlock so close he could feel the flutter of his heart in the cage of his bones, the heat from his face and neck as he blushed with intimacy.

“My Sherlock,” John breathed as their lips parted. “I do love you.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, chasing John’s lips again. “John… I…”

“Oh…” John ran his hands down Sherlock’s back, feeling his skin through the fabric. The firmness of his bones, the slender dip of his waist, and his arse, which John couldn’t help gripping as they kissed again.

Sherlock hummed right into John’s mouth as he felt that touch, pressing his groin wantonly against John’s; growing hardness against growing hardness. “Johnnnnn…”

“Sherlock… Tell me,” John broke the kiss again to make eye-contact. “Tell me, if you want me to stop. Tell me, and I’ll stop. I’ll let you go. But I want… you,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against the omega’s, his body aching with the need to touch closer, firmer, faster. “Tell me, Sherlock.”

“You can have me,” Sherlock whispered, his voice like a falling leaf. “I want you to have me. Please…” he kissed John’s cheek. “I just want… you.”

John groaned, the alpha inside him crowing in triumph at the omega’s submissive words. He picked Sherlock up, quickly, and carried him through the kitchen to his bedroom, dropping the young man onto his bed as gently as he could manage.

“Don’t do that,” he said as Sherlock started undoing his own shirt buttons. “I want to undress you.”

“Why?” Sherlock let his hands fall.

“Because you’re a gift, Sherlock,” John murmured, kissing him softly on the mouth, “and I want to unwrap you.”

Sherlock blushed. “Don’t talk wet, John.”

“I have to,” John went to kiss his neck, and Sherlock’s head fell back. “You make me feel like it’s ok.”

“It is ok, really,” Sherlock’s hands ran up John’s arms, touching through the wool, holding on for a moment. “I don’t mind.”

John nuzzled the scent gland at the side of Sherlock’s throat. He could do it… “Sherlock…”

“No,” came the answer. “Not - not now.”

“Ok,” John kissed the spot, moving away immediately after, his hands going for Sherlock’s shirt buttons, instead. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

“I believe I have heard it mentioned,” Sherlock bit his lip as he watched John push open his clothes, exposing his flat chest, ribcage clearly visible as his stomach caved in a little. A pink blush crept down the omega’s throat and chest. “Um…”

John resumed his kisses, and Sherlock’s tension dropped, his arms going to hold John’s shoulders, his hair, as John kissed down his sternum, then over to an erect nipple. John scraped his teeth over the hard pink bead, making Sherlock flinch, and gasp. A lick, tasting Sherlock’s perfect omega skin, and then John sucked the tiny hardness into his mouth.

“Oh!” Sherlock arched his back, his legs falling apart effortlessly as John sucked on his skin. John teased at the erect bud, pinching its twin on the opposite side as he settled between Sherlock’s parted legs, trying to keep the growing hardness in his trousers away from touching Sherlock immediately. Sherlock was breathing in little pants already, his fingers trying to grip John’s hair, but it was too short to grab properly. “John!”

John kept up his attentions on Sherlock’s chest and neck, sliding a hand down to the young man’s trousers, and undoing the catch on his belt.

Sherlock lifted his arse from the bed, helping John pull the leather free, and get to the buttons and zip, opening Sherlock’s flies, but not slipping his hand in, quite yet.

“Mm,” Sherlock turned his head to one side, giving John access to his neck to kiss and nip at. His skin was glowing with warmth and lust, and John had never had to restrain himself so badly. He paused for a moment, gathering his senses as Sherlock thrust up against him, apparently without thinking, and John felt a hardness brush against his own.

“Oh god,” he swallowed hard. “Sherlock… I want you so much…”

“Please,” Sherlock nodded, pushing his hair back, blotches of red on his face and neck. “John, you can… we can…”

“Fuck,” John dug his teeth into Sherlock’s jaw, hard enough to mark. “You’re mine. I’ve wanted you… longer than I should…”

“I’m yours,” Sherlock breathed, going pliant under John’s touch, surrendering his arms up near his face, so John could take hold of one of his wrists. John’s fingers gripped around that pale skin and jutting bone, holding his omega still as he dropped his hand between their bodies, breaching the line of Sherlock’s trousers, and running a feather-light touch over the erection there.

Sherlock huffed out a breath, raising his hips as John pushed his trousers down, leaving his black boxer-briefs on, for now.

John ran his hand over the curls of dark hair on Sherlock’s thighs, caressing and tickling the smoother skin on the insides of his limbs before moving back to his cock. Small, by alpha and beta standards, yet more than enough to let John know that Sherlock was eager. The omega whimpered softly as John thumbed at the hardness through his underwear, flattening his hand to touch more, to feel Sherlock’s cock against his palm.

“John…” Sherlock’s voice was shaky. “Can – can you take your clothes off, please?”

John blinked, nodding before removing his hand and pulling his jumper over his head. “Sorry, lovely. Did I make you feel exposed?”

“A bit,” Sherlock licked his lower lip as John de-robed, dropping his jumper and undoing his jeans, kicking off his socks in the same motion, as Sherlock toed his own off. They both kept their underwear on, and Sherlock welcomed John back with open arms, and lay happily, accepting soft kisses as John pressed their bare limbs and chests together.

“You’re so warm,” Sherlock smiled, moving a little beneath the alpha. “I like it…” his lips found John’s again, moving more easily, now, softer to open and allow John’s tongue inside to taste, to stroke over the omega’s own.

“I love you,” John said again, moving to kiss Sherlock’s hair, his ears, his neck once again. “Can I touch you? I want to touch you, my Sherlock.”

“Please,” the omega rutted his hips up, against John’s erection. “Oh god, John. Please…”

Pants came off, then, both pairs at once, kicked off in a sort of frenzy that left them both naked and lay on their sides, glancing down to compare their bodies in a silent, shocked and delighted way.

Sherlock seemed struck speechless, his eyes popping at the sight of a mature alpha cock pressed against his stomach.

John stroked his back reassuringly. “It’s ok, Sherlock, we don’t –” his words were cut off by a strangled moan, as Sherlock’s curious fingers wrapped around his cock, and pulled experimentally. “Oh, fuck. Oh god, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blushed, stroking his fingers loosely over the soft skin, watching in near-fascination as it moved over the hardness beneath, moving his hand to pull back John’s foreskin, exposing the pre-come soaked glans.

“Shit…” John gripped the bedclothes with a hand to steady himself. “Sherlock…”

“I can’t… you’d kill me,” Sherlock met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” John said, nodding. “I know it’s… I didn’t plan to. You’re not ready-”

Sherlock blushed. “But… I want…” he moved his hand again, a rush of pleasure moving through John’s cock, down his legs, up his chest, doing mad things to his brain.

“Oh god… We can… Here,” John grasped himself firmly, touching Sherlock’s inner thigh to indicate he should lift it, and seated his cock between the grip of Sherlock’s legs. The barest trickle of slick had run from Sherlock’s arse, but it was enough to lubricate John’s erection as he gave a thrust between Sherlock’s legs.

“Ah!” Sherlock gasped at the sensation, tightening his legs together.

“God,” John pushed Sherlock by the small of his back, holding him close. “You’re here. You’re mine and you’re here…” He thrust again, rocking his hips rhythmically, the tightness of Sherlock’s thighs accentuated by the warm slick trickling from his backside. Sherlock was shuddering at the closeness of the sensation, the thrusts of the alpha without being penetrated, the throb of his cock against John’s skin.

“Want to touch you,” John breathed, keeping up his slow movements.

“Yes,” Sherlock rested his head on the bed, kissing John’s shoulder with chaste little pecks.

John reached down from the curve of Sherlock’s back to the roundness of his arse, slipping a finger between his cheeks and feeling the dampness there. Sherlock trembled a little as John touched further down, feeling where the slick was leaking from, and gently touching at the ever-so-slightly swollen and softened entrance.

Sherlock made a small noise, hiding his face in the duvet, but moved his leg to part his arse cheeks a little more, whilst keeping John’s cock between his legs. “John…”

John touched further, swirling his finger over the soft skin, feeling the tiny twists of hair, the tautness of the flesh, the wetness leaking that was just enough to ease a fingertip inside the omega.

Sherlock moaned, bucking back against John’s finger. “John!”

“Oh god, Sherlock,” John pushed more of his finger inside, up to the knuckle. “You feel so warm, so soft…”

“Oh!” Sherlock let out a sob, twitching his hips, making John’s finger slide further inside him. “That’s…”

“My Sherlock,” John realised his own hips were still, but his cock was aching, _aching_ , to get inside this beauty on the bed. He thrust forward again, trying to relieve some of the aching need, and Sherlock moved too, riding John’s finger, rocking back and forth until John’s palm was flat against his skin. “Oh _god_ , I want you.”

“I’m yours,” Sherlock breathed, sweat running down his chest in a bead. He was fucking himself on the single-finger intrusion, and John was thrusting between his legs, and _fuck_ if it wasn’t the sexiest thing John had ever experienced, and he didn’t even have his cock inside.

“Oh, John!” Sherlock suddenly cried out, writhing as John touched at the omega’s sensitive prostate, rubbing over the g-spot that was over-sensitive for a lack of lubrication, but doubly responsive as a result. “OH!” Sherlock cried out, a high-pitched boyish cry as he orgasmed, his small cock ejaculating a tiny splatter of fluid against John’s skin, but the omega kept on moving. Multiple orgasms were the omega’s gift.

But John was close.

“Can I turn you over?”

“Yes,” Sherlock winced as John withdrew his finger, and rolled onto his stomach. John pulled his hips up, seating himself in Sherlock’s arse crack, his thumb breaching Sherlock’s wet entrance now, and thrusting as if his sanity depended on it.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” John pulled Sherlock closer by his hips, holding him still and tight as he thrust against his skin, so desperate to penetrate and yet needing, needing, needing not to, or else Sherlock might be damaged permanently.

“Yes, oh god, yes…” Sherlock cried out as John’s flesh smacked into his own, and his broken cries sent John over the edge.

“Sherlock!” He groaned, climax washing over him in sweetest relief, spilling what had to be a litre of come over Sherlock’s arse and back.

Sherlock wailed at the sensation, glancing over his shoulder to see. John moved his hips slowly, milking the last of his come from himself before sighing, taking in the sight of the gorgeous, naked and come-covered omega – of _Sherlock_ – on his bed in such a state.

“Oh my god…” John breathed.

“I think I need a shower,” Sherlock said, flopping face-down onto the bed.

“Yeah, a little bit,” John felt mildly guilty, but Sherlock looked delightful, and he smelled like _his_ omega, now. Anyone would know it. Almost anyone. “Are you ok?”

“Mm,” Sherlock nodded, smiling with his eyes closed. “Very.” He opened one eye. “What happens now?”

“I’ll start the shower for you,” John said. “Then we can cuddle in bed until we fall asleep.”

“I meant…” Sherlock pulled a face. “You know.”

“I know,” John shrugged. “And that’s what’ll happen. I love you, Sherlock. And I’m going to take care of you.”

Sherlock’s gaze dropped to one side. “What about… what I said? Going into heat at school?”

John ruffled his hair. “Your body is yours, Sherlock. Only you can decide what to do with it, in my opinion. If you’re worried about it… we can see about you getting heat suppressants.”

“They’re not for immature omegas,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Not officially,” John said.

“Ah.” Sherlock looked away. “Don’t they mess you up?”

“There’s a few side-effects. Some serious ones, yes, for immature omegas it can affect fertility, and all sorts… We can look into it. If it’s something you’re genuinely afraid of… I don’t want you living in fear.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sherlock agreed, putting his head back down. “I just want to be with you, now.”

“That sounds like heaven,” John leaned forward and kissed the omega on the cheek, feeling him smile.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV
> 
>  
> 
> The morning after, and Sherlock has a realisation.

Sherlock woke in a bed that wasn’t his own. He tensed for a moment as he registered the alpha scent, then relaxed.

 _John’s bed_.

And yesterday, they had… oh. Oh!

Sherlock smiled, snuggling into the covers. They’d had… sex. Sort of. John hadn’t gotten inside him, but in Sherlock’s mind the events of the previous afternoon completely counted as sex. As first sex with John. He smiled further, a warm and tingling feeling working its way down his body. It had been… different. To have sex with no real purpose. When he did it with Victor, it was to try and force a heat. He’d expected that when he did it with John, in would be _in_ heat. Not this sentimental intimacy that had left Sherlock wrung-out and exhausted and satisfied in a way that was different from the satisfaction of having a member in your arse.

 _I love you, Sherlock Holmes_.

Sherlock opened his eyes to peep at John, who was sleeping in a typical alpha pose, arm slung over his head, muscular chest partially exposed, dark blond hair tufting his underarm.

Sherlock’s smile softened. He shifted closer, coming to rest his cheek on John’s chest. John sleepily dropped his arm down to hold Sherlock close.

 _Do I love you?_ Sherlock wondered, listening to John’s steady heartbeat, his lungs filling and emptying beneath his head. _I loved Victor because he wanted me, and he made me happy. You make me happy. You make me feel safe, and I don’t want to leave you again. Is that the same love? Is it a_ better _love? Or not as good? What are the rules?_ Sherlock lay pondering, his mind buzzing away unhelpfully until John started to come to.

“Hey,” John shifted, pulling Sherlock closer for a proper hug, the two of the on their sides, face to face. “Morning, lovely.”

“Lovely morning,” Sherlock teased, beaming as John kissed him on the head.

“You stayed,” John said, brushing Sherlock’s curls back in a way that made him feel fussed over. “I wondered if you would.”

“I didn’t want to get out,” Sherlock confessed. “Still don’t, really.”

“You don’t have to. I mean, maybe actually get up, but if you wanted…” John took a breath, “you could come back here. Sleep here, I mean.”

Sherlock felt a hot blush climb up his neck. “Oh… thank you. That’s… that might be nice.”

“I’m not going to insist on it,” John said quickly. “I know omegas need their own space. But if you want a cuddle, or… well, you’re welcome.” He leaned in to gently scent Sherlock behind the ear, and Sherlock shivered. Nice shivers, that did things to his skin, like little sparks of electricity were running over it. “I’m very glad you stayed.”

“Me too,” Sherlock let himself be pulled closer; going soft and pliant in John’s hands seemed like the easiest and most natural thing in the world. He eased over John’s thigh and hip until he was snuggled into the alpha’s firm chest, John’s hands running over his pyjama-clad body. Sherlock hadn’t quite had the confidence to sleep nude; though John had, and the alpha’s cock was stirring against Sherlock’s body in a way that made those pleasant shivers return, along with a sort of drawing ache inside him. “Mm…”

“You ok here?” John asked, stilling his hands for a moment.

“Yeah,” Sherlock moved, and felt John’s cock move with him, growing harder, trapped under Sherlock’s weight. “Am – am I squashing you?”

“As if,” John laughed. “You’re tiny. In a good way. You feel…” his gentle strokes resumed, “you feel as beautiful as you look.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock grinned, realising the nice rushes down his body were pooling at his groin. He was getting hard, and the feel of John’s cock against him was only making it happen faster. He swallowed, glancing away. Was this right? Were omegas supposed to get like this outside of heats?

“Is that your phone in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?” John whispered right into the shell of Sherlock’s ear, making him shudder, and rut slightly against the large hardness. John groaned. “Fuck,” he whispered into Sherlock’s neck. “Sherlock…”

“Is this ok?” Sherlock blurted.

“What?” John pulled back to look at him. “Yes – yes, if you want it, of course it’s ok-”

“I mean, I’m not in heat, or anything,” Sherlock explained, face igniting with embarrassment. “I can’t… help it. I just… want…”

“God, Sherlock,” John cupped his face. “My Sherlock… the fact that you want to be close, to do thing like this… and you’re not in heat? Is pretty much the sexiest thing on the fucking planet.”

“Really?” Sherlock pressed his chin into John’s hand.

“Yes! God, it means you want me, not just some alpha who can see you through a heat. Don’t you see?” John looked ecstatic. “It means we like one another for the men we are. Not just an alpha and omega screwing through a heat. We’re better than that.”

“Oh,” Sherlock smiled slowly.

“You said you didn’t want to be a vessel, and to me you never will be. And I don’t want to just be a knot to you, either,” John said. He stroked Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb. “I love you. If you want me close to you without your hormones telling you to have me… well,” he sat up and pulled Sherlock into a close cuddle, the bedclothes falling from them both. “Well, it makes me want to cry with happiness, to be quite honest.”

“John…” Sherlock sniffed, snuggling into his alpha’s shoulder and neck, inhaling the scent of him. Woodsmoke and orange chocolate and masculinity. Sherlock could feel John’s hard cock pressing against his stomach, against his own erection, and he wanted to rock himself to climax right there. Why not?

Sherlock rolled his hips a little, experimentally nudging John’s bare cock with his own covered one, but the idea of the action seemed to do things to John, who shuddered out a moan, and held Sherlock close.

“My Sherlock.”

“My John,” Sherlock went to put his arms around John’s shoulders, then changed his mind, reaching down to push and kick off his pyjama bottoms, settling back naked from the waist down, his small cock pressed against the huge, hot thing John was sporting. “God…” he thrust up again, against John’s cock, drawing gasps and flinches from the alpha, who didn’t seem to know where to look, or where to put his hands.

“Sherlock… yes, keep doing that…” John shut his eyes a second, and Sherlock felt a thrill that he could make John feel like this. John’s hands ran down his body, to his slightly-parted arse cheeks, a single finger sliding into the cleft and stroking with a feather-light touch that made Sherlock break his thrusting rhythm and jerk backwards involuntarily.

“Sorry…”

“It’s ok,” John glanced down between them. “If I lie down, you can do that, and I can touch you?”

“Please,” Sherlock nodded, letting John slide them both down, Sherlock straddling the alpha’s legs with his hips splayed wide, arse open wantonly for John to play with as the omega thrust in shivered little motions against the alpha’s cock.

John’s touch was confident, yet gentle. Sherlock relaxed bit by bit as John stroked over his increasingly damp skin, making no effort or force his fingers inside. Sherlock moaned softly as a trickle of slick ran from him in a burst of pleasure, and John swirled it onto the pad of his middle finger, using the natural lubricant to ease his intimate caress.

“John…” Sherlock’s hips twitched, and he realised he had gone still, too distracted by John’s touch of his body to keep up his movements. “I…”

“It’s ok,” John breathed. “I want to touch you. So much. God, I want to touch every bit of you…” his fingers, two of them now, gathered more slick, and stroked lovingly over the taut skin, and softening entrance of Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock gave a little cry as John pressed a fingertip between the puffy folds of his skin, barely breaching his insides before withdrawing.

“Don’t – oh!” Sherlock didn’t know why he felt so outraged that John’s touches had left him. “Please…”

“I might hurt –”

“You won’t,” Sherlock kissed John’s chest. “Just one… I want you, John. My John. My alpha, please… come inside me.”

Sherlock’s words did a number on John, whose eyes went wide in shock, then darkened with lust. The alpha bit his lip as he softly, slowly, slid a single finger inside Sherlock.

“Oh!” Sherlock’s jaw went loose, his voice wobbling as John penetrated him, touching him with gentle ‘come hither’ motions inside him. “You’re inside me… Oh god, John…”

“Fuck, Sherlock…” John gripped Sherlock’s hair, slightly harder than he might have done, but it felt like a gesture of possessive love, not anger. “You’re so soft… so wet… god, I want… Want to get my cock in you.”

“Ah!” Sherlock writhed suddenly as John rubbed over his prostate. Sherlock’s cock thrust up against John’s, which was now steadily leaking pre-come, making them both moan. “Oh, John. John, please. Please, do… something!”

“Fuck!” John gently withdrew his finger, then returned it, only this time it was accompanied by another.

Sherlock yelped, the stretch immediately aching and painful, but he couldn’t dream of telling John to stop, now. This was what he needed – what his body was craving. A touch of love, of sheer closeness and intimacy. Not a stretch to fit a cock inside just to start a heat. Not mating or breeding. Just… making love. Two men, in bed together, touching one another, because they were in love.

“Oh my god,” Sherlock gasped, half-sobbing onto John’s chest as realisation and pleasure took him over. His arms gave way and he lay sprawled on John’s chest as the alpha gently fucked him with his fingers, bringing him to an orgasm so overwhelming that Sherlock cried, tears running down his face in relief and pleasure and love. “I want…” he forced himself to sit up, keeping John’s fingers lodged inside himself as he took hold of John’s cock in two hands. There was a tiny splatter of omega come on the shaft, but Sherlock ignored it, breathing heavily as he pumped John’s cock in his fists, moaning and shuddering as John gave his arse shallow fucks with his two digits, deep inside.

“Sherlock, that’s it. That’s it, my love, keep going… Oh, fuck!” John thrust hard into Sherlock’s hands, come releasing in an arc that covered the omega’s chest, and John’s stomach in equal measure.

“I love you,” Sherlock murmured, touching the ejaculate on his skin with a soft curiosity.

John looked up, withdrawing his fingers from Sherlock’s entrance, making the omega whine. “What… what?”

“I love you,” Sherlock repeated. “I think I always did. But… It was a different love. I didn’t realise it happened, because it happened so… easily.”

“Sherlock…” John sat up, stroking Sherlock’s hair, his dark blue eyes shining. “You really mean it? You’re not just… high on sex?”

“I am, a bit,” Sherlock smiled, blushing. “But… I love you, John. Maybe it’s not the same as I loved Victor. But that doesn’t mean it’s less. Or not as good. Maybe it’s better, actually. I want…” he leaned close to John’s lips, “I want to be your omega, but I want to be your lover, too.” He pecked John on the mouth.

John let out a shaky breath. “That… that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” he looked so sad Sherlock almost panicked before John grabbed his head and kissed him deeply, tongue sweeping through his mouth, bare chests together in post-coital thrumming heartbeats and sticky skins. Sherlock tasted salt and sweat and alpha lust and he wanted to sink into a river of this feeling, and drown.

“I love you, John,” he whispered, as they parted.

“I love you too, Sherlock,” came the reply. “And I always will.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV
> 
> Months fall off the calendar, and events start to wind up.

September got colder, and the trees goldened. October blew in in a rush of mock exams and trick-or-treaters that Sherlock refused to answer the door to. He stood awkwardly, whilst John took his photograph on Halloween night, as he was in fancy dress for the first time in his life.

“You look adorable,” John grinned, clicking his phone yet again.

“Can I go?” Sherlock sighed, fake blood shining at the corner of his mouth. His dark hair was swept back, and there was a black cloak around his shoulders. John had helped him paint on dark circles and cheek hollows to make the omega look undead, but it somehow made him look… sexy.

“One more,” John promised, raising his phone.

Sherlock pulled his clock over his face, hissing, which actually made for a good photo.

“Ok, ok, I’m done,” John pocketed his phone and went over to his love. “You sure you’ll be ok?”

“It’s only a party at Molly’s house,” Sherlock sighed. “I think her parents are going to be there. It’ll be cold pizza and weak booze and people wearing mad costumes.”

“You’ll love it,” John straightened his cloak. “Just don’t get too drunk, ok?”

“I won’t, _Dad_ ,” Sherlock drawled, letting John pull him close and scent his throat. “Hmm, I thought I was supposed to be the vampire around here?”

John nipped at his neck. “We’ll see.”

A car horn beeped outside.

“That’ll be Molly’s mum,” Sherlock sighed. He poked his chin into John’s top, leaving a white ghost of makeup. “Will you wait up for me?”

“Of course,” John kissed his neck again before stepping, reluctantly, away. “Go scare a few normals.”

“I’ll try,” Sherlock flipped up the collar of his cloak, and blew John a kiss before heading down the stairs.

 

*

 

Some changes came easily. Sleeping in the same bed happened as naturally as breathing. Sherlock was a tangle of limbs around John, his legs everywhere as he slept soundlessly every night, his young face smooth and lineless as he dreamed.

Other changes were harder.

Finding that fine line between clingy and comforting was not John’s strong point. Having lived alone for so long, and now being so in love, it was difficult to know how much to leave Sherlock alone. The young omega’s mood-swings were still going, and sometimes he’d come to John for a cuddle, only to push him away and sulk in his room for hours. Sometimes he’d sit working quietly at the table, and then act offended that John hadn’t come over to kiss him. On the flipside, John welcomed every touch Sherlock chose to give him with open arms. But Sherlock was his own person, and if he wasn’t naturally a hugger, then John couldn’t force him to be.

They never said they were ‘boyfriends’. They never really talked about mating. John tried to bring the subject up, once, and Sherlock’s barriers came clanging down, hitting him with silence.

The heat suppressants John had spoken of were now in the bathroom cabinet, on the top shelf.

The box was still unopened.

John checked it every day, every day feeling a twinge of relief and guilt that Sherlock hadn’t taken them.

October became November, and then December.

Sherlock hit five-foot ten, now a good two inches taller than John, and John couldn’t help feeling rather proud of his tall omega. Sherlock’s face changed a bit, took, losing its roundness and his already strong features becoming more pronounced – high cheekbones, a strong chin and nose that offset his dark hair and pale eyes beautifully. All omegas were good looking – they were designed by nature to be enticing. But Sherlock… was something else. Perhaps no one else saw it. Or perhaps John was blinded by love. But to John, Sherlock was the most precious being who ever walked the earth.

And on his seventeenth birthday, John handed him a gift.

Sherlock stared at the tiny box, in its gilt gift-wrap. “What… what is this?”

“I thought you were supposed to be a detective?” John teased, from his position kneeling on the floor.

Sherlock’s fingers clenched around the box. “You – you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to _give_ me this. We’re already –”

“Through some arrangement out parents made without our consultation,” John said gently, closing his hands over Sherlock’s. “If we’re going to do this… now, in the future, whenever… I want it to be something we’ve both chosen to do. Not something we do out of obligation.”

Sherlock swallowed, his Adam’s apple going up and down. He lifted his hands from John’s touch, and pulled the ribbon off the present, the wrap falling away a moment later. He opened the mahogany box, his eyes glassy as he stared at the contents.

John cleared his throat. “Sherlock… William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” he smirked, watching Sherlock blush, “I would have you be mine. I would have you for my mate. Will you consider, one day, bonding with me?”

Sherlock let out a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He took the ring – the plain, platinum band – out of the box, and stuck it straight onto his left hand. “Yes, of course, you idiot.”

John burst out laughing, cupping Sherlock’s face as he knelt up to kiss him. “Thank you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“I love you,” Sherlock copied, looking over John’s shoulder at his ring. “God… you asked me.”

“Of course.”

“You actually asked, though,” Sherlock pulled back, smiling with his red face. “You… that’s disgustingly romantic, you know. Get out.”

“Never,” John leaned up for another kiss, and Sherlock complied, going limp under John’s hands, letting John push him down onto the sofa, climb on top of him. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“You too,” Sherlock sighed, head rolling back as John kissed at his throat. He didn’t resist as John opened his collar buttons, and inhaled deeply at the patch on his throat that begged for a bite. John could feel a burning ache in his chest and groin, telling him to bite, to claim… but not now. Not now they were as close as this… Wait. Wait until Sherlock smelled like heat, like fertility and breeding… John rutted his growing against Sherlock’s thigh. Even the thought of that happening soon was doing a number on him.

“Oh,” Sherlock gasped, wriggling beneath John at the feel of him. “John…”

“My Sherlock,” John kissed over the young man’s collarbones. “My love, I want you so much.”

“You’ve got me,” Sherlock smiled, parting his legs for John to settle in between. “Long as you want me.”

“Forever, love.”

Sherlock hummed in happiness, moving his hips a fraction against John’s, so John could feel the growing firmness in his smart trousers.

It was a few weeks since they had been so intimate – a combination of John’s night shifts and Sherlock’s exams has meant they were too tired to do much more than cuddle and occasionally stroke one another’s bodies to climax. So, when John undid Sherlock’s zip and started to ease his trousers down his thighs, the omega shuddered in want, biting his lip as his cock sprang free.

“So beautiful…” John wrapped his fingers around the slender erection, and pulled slowly, feeling the hardness condense in his touch, making Sherlock moan under his breath. John dipped his head and planted a kiss to the tip, making the omega flinch.

“That’s… John…” Sherlock looked up, confusion on his face. Alphas did not, traditionally, perform oral sex – it was a degrading act that was only shown in pornography and the basest kind, at that.

But John was an army man, who had sucked many a cock. And he wanted to taste Sherlock. So he did – dragging his tongue from root to tip, making the omega cry out in shock and pleasure.

“John! You can’t…”

“Want me to stop?”

“Fuck, no.”

John grinned, and lapped his tongue again, tasting Sherlock’s skin, swirling his tongue over the damp head before closing his lips over it.

Sherlock clutched at the sofa cushions, jerking his hips a little, but John was expecting it, going slack at the jaw to swallow, pulling off a bit before sinking his mouth back onto the omega’s cock.

“God!” Sherlock tossed his head, apparently not know whether to stay still or not. “John, this… this is so… fuck!” He thrust up again, so John had to clamp his hands over the omega’s hips, planting him firmly still on the sofa as he sucked at his cock. The display of dominance made Sherlock almost purr, relaxing against John’s touch and letting the assault of pleasure on him continue, whining and gasping at the sensations as he was held completely still.

John swallowed Sherlock’s throbbing cock down as far as he could, feeling the leaking glans nudge the back of his throat before he swallowed around it, sucking hard as Sherlock cried out, try and failing to escape John’s grip on his pelvis.

“John! John, st – I’m – ” Sherlock’s words dissolved into cries as a small splatter of come hit the back of John’s throat, making him gag slightly as he forced it down, pulling off Sherlock’s cock to see the omega’s flushed face and chest, panting as he rode out an orgasm, his small member still twitching and leaking slightly as John stroked it, milking the last of the pale, spermless fluid from the boy’s cock.

“You ok?” John stroked up Sherlock’s abdomen and chest.

“Yes…” the omega licked his lips. “That… that was filthy.”

“You think?” John smiled, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

“Alphas don’t… do that.”

“This one just did.”

Sherlock nodded, looking bewilderedly at the ceiling as John caressed his throat and chest. He raised his left hand to look at his new ring.

 

*

 

It was the last day of January.

John was eating toast as he tidied up the lounge, listening to Sherlock crash about getting his school things ready. Since they’d become officially engaged, in John’s eyes, they had been closer than ever. Sherlock hadn’t been back in his own bed for weeks, and only used his bedroom as an office, or when his omega instinct commanded that he nest, reading books in piles of blankets for hours.

John’s bed was now _their_ bed, and John wouldn’t change it for the –

A scent hit the back of John’s throat, raising a growl from deep in his chest. He spun around, holding his toast like a weapon as Sherlock walked in, raising an eyebrow at the triangle of wholemeal pointed at him,

“Going to stab me with that?” he rolled his eyes, heading for the teapot.

John stared at him, taking a deliberately deep breath. There it was again, amongst the citrus and vanilla overtones – a cinnamon-like burning smell of spice and… Somehow John was behind Sherlock, scenting him hard along the neck and hairline, holding his arms tight.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked, a tone of worry tinging his voice.

“Scenting you,” John murmured, giving Sherlock’s hair a good sniff. He pulled back and looked him over. “Do you feel ok?”

“Fine,” Sherlock shrugged. “Normal.” He picked up two slices of toast and bit into them like a sandwich, not even bothering to butter them. “Why?”

John made a face.

Sherlock swallowed, his face dropping. “You think I’m going into heat?”

“I don’t know for sure,” John said quickly. “I got a whiff of… something. Something new.”

Sherlock sniffed his own shoulder. “I don’t feel like I am. I…”

“It might be in the next week or so, then,” John said. “I do live with you, I smell you every day. I’m bound to pick up changes more easily than anyone else.”

“True…” Sherlock set his toast sandwich down. “What… should I stay at home?”

John leaned forward and scented him again, getting only citrus and vanilla once more. “I can’t smell it now. It’s your call.”

“I have a maths test,” Sherlock considered. “I should go in, if I’m ok to.”

“I’ll keep my phone on me,” John nodded. “And if you don’t feel well, I’ll come and get you. Even if it’s just nerves, I’ll be there. Sound good?”

“Ok,” Sherlock picked his toast back up. “I don’t think it’s anything, personally. I don’t even feel warm.” He finished his toast and moved onto a yoghurt and two bananas before he had to leave, each item of food making John more nervous. Omegas ate a lot before their heats struck – because during heats their digestive systems all but shut down. And Sherlock had never been a breakfast person.

“You sure you feel ok?” John asked, giving him a final sniff as he picked his schoolbag up.

“I feel normal,” Sherlock shrugged. “If it happens this week…” he blushed, and looked down to meet John’s eyes. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“We’re almost on the bridge,” John said. He took Sherlock’s hand, lifting it and kissing his engagement ring.

Sherlock smiled. “I suppose we are. Keep your phone on.”

“Will do.” John let Sherlock out, and followed him, hailing a cab to get to his shift at the walk-in centre.

 

*

 

John checked his phone every ten minutes. He told his supervisor the basics of his sudden obsession, and she was happy for him to take on the admin work in the general practice department. There was one text from Sherlock, around lunchtime, where he said he wasn’t in heat, but had maxed out his dinner card, and could John top it up, please.

Chances are, John would have stayed glued to his desk all day if that hadn’t happened. He picked up his wallet and signed out for lunch, planning to call into the post office to top up Sherlock’s dinner card. The streets were busy, as usual, and John mentally catalogued everyone he went past. Alpha, omega, beta, beta, alpha, beta, omega…

Omega.

John dropped the sandwich he was holding, pelting over to where an alpha was trying to pick his omega off the floor. She was wailing in pain, and John could see she was pregnant.

“Let me through, I’m a doctor,” he flashed his badge at the onlookers, kneeling beside the woman. “What happened?”

“She was fine,” her alpha said, his panic overriding any dominance he had over John touching his mate. “She just screamed, and fell. Is she –”

“How many weeks is she?”

“Thirty.”

John relaxed a tiny bit. “What’s your name, omega?”

“Amy,” she gasped, her hands flying to her swollen stomach. “What – what’s happening?”

“I’ve called an ambulance,” someone shouted.

“Thank you,” John said loudly. “Amy, where does it hurt?”

“Here,” she grabbed his hand and put it on her belly.

“Can you feel baby moving?”

“No!”

“Don’t panic, you might not feel them because you’re upset,” John said reasonably, feeling the omega’s fundus and judging that the baby was head down, at least. “Your baby might be making an early appearance, I’m afraid.”

“But it’s too soon!” Amy shrieked.

“Yes, so I need you to stay calm for me, and we’re going to get you to a safe, clean place. Hold your mate’s hand…”

Amy grabbed for a hand, and found it.

“Is this your first baby?” John didn’t even bother apologising as he put an ear to the omega’s stomach, lifting her dress out of the way. He could hear a gentle whooshing sound that wasn’t an adult heartbeat.

“Yes…” she let out a sob. “Oh god, what –”

The wail of a siren cut her off, and the onlookers scattered as an ambulance pulled up beside the pavement, lights flashing.

“Help’s here, look, it’s ok,” John pulled her clothes back down, giving the poor woman some dignity, but then a splash of viscerous fluid gushed from between her legs, blood and mucous soaking her, John, and her mate’s trousers. John ignored it, barking at the paramedics: “Waters broken, clear fluids, thirty weeks prima gravida, her name’s Amy.”

“Any heartbeat?”

“Yes, but faint.”

“Faint?” the omega’s mate put a hand to his mouth.

John turned to reassure him, when he stopped. “V-Victor?”

Victor Trevor dropped his hand. “John Watson. I thought it was you.”

From inside the ambulance, Amy screamed her mate’s name.

John shook his head. “Let’s do this another time, shall we?” he indicated the ambulance, and the two alphas climbed inside, both rushing to the sobbing woman’s side as the doors slammed shut.

 

*

 

On John’s desk, back at the walk-in centre, a forgotten mobile phone began to ring.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is ill. Or is he?

Sherlock hadn’t been entirely honest with John, that morning.

He didn’t feel like he was going to go into heat, that was for certain. But he didn’t feel one hundred per cent right. He felt a little woozy, and hungry, and tired yet on edge at the same time. He walked to school, pulling his coat around himself as the wind tried to cut through it. There was a film of frost on the pavement and the street signs, and Sherlock was soon shivering, despite puling his scarf up over his mouth.

It was so cold that he kept his scarf on, tight around his neck as he went into his first lesson. He sat at the back and shivered, along with the other students, finally feeling the school’s heating system click on around ten, and the boys were dismissed for break.

Sherlock stood, feeling woozier than ever. He avoided the cafeteria, knowing his dinner card balance was zero, instead pulling out a handful of change for the coffee machine in the quad. He got something sludgey and strong, feeling it warm his insides, and for a moment he felt the buzz of the drink take the edge off his shaky, sick feeling.

But it didn’t last long.

Sherlock threw the coffee into the nearest bin as he dashed to the omega toilets.

He locked the main door to the room, claiming all the silent cubicles for himself before dropping to his knees in front of one, and vomiting spectacularly. Coffee, toast and fruit all came back up, partially digested and disgusting. Sherlock heaved again, bring up more, throwing up for a good five minutes until he was just producing bile, and his stomach hurt. He flushed the toilet, and pulled his scarf off as he staggered to the sinks.

He looked pale, and sweaty, and gross.

 _Going into heat, indeed…_ he washed his hands, and face, spraying on deodorant and tidying himself up in the mirror. He sent John a text, choosing not to mention puking:

 

**Not in heat. Dinner card has £0 balance. Could you top it up, please? SH**

Sherlock watched the ‘sending’ bar crawl across the screen. The school’s wifi was appalling. Checking himself in the mirror again, he went out, and headed to maths for his test. He got a few funny looks as he went through the corridors – he probably looked like he’d been throwing up. He ignored them, and let himself into the classroom with a minute to spare, sitting at the back as usual, taking his scarf off, and undoing him top button. He now felt too hot. He’d get John to come and pick him up when this test was done.

“You have forty minutes, boys,” the teacher pointed to the clock. “You may start.”

Sherlock flipped his paper over. Algebra. Formula conversions. Easy. Sherlock pulled his scrap paper closer, and started to work through the problems. He’d never done algebra until he came to this school, but it was like codebreaking – easy, once you knew the key.

He answered the first page, and turned over as a wave of nausea and cramp hit his torso. He grimaced in silence, hunching to try and fight off the feeling. It passed.

Only to return when Sherlock was halfway down the second page. A sudden burst of temperature hitting his face and neck, rushing down his chest. His empty stomach rolled, and he scrunched up his scrap paper in his fist.

A boy in the middle row glanced back at him.

Sherlock put his pencil down and tried to loosed his collar a little. It felt chaffing. In fact, all his clothes felt chaffing. He felt twitchy and hot, and…

_Oh, fuck._

_Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Oh, god, no, not here._

Sherlock looked up slowly, keeping very still, looking over the room’s occupants the way you might survey a room full of tigers. Alpha teacher. More than half the class were alpha boys, but some were immature. Sherlock was the only omega taking Maths A-Level. He swallowed slowly, looking back down at his paper.

_Stay very still. They could smell you if you move. The heater is blowing towards you, not away, which is fortunate. You need to leave the room and call John. Put your hand up and say you need the toilet. Act calm._

Sherlock raised his hand.

The teacher cocked his head to the side.

“Toilet, please?” Sherlock mouthed in the silence.

The teacher rolled his eyes and picked a toilet pass from his desk.

Sherlock stood. He couldn’t take his coat, scarf or bag. It would look suspicious. Thank god his phone was in his pocket.

The teacher stood and opened the classroom door for him, and Sherlock took the pass quickly, and was about to escape, when-

“Holmes?” the teacher, Mr Grant, closed the door behind them both. They were alone in the corridor, and Sherlock’s body was screaming at him. “I do hope you’re not going to the lav to cheat.”

“No, sir,” Sherlock squeaked.

“Then give me your phone.” Mr Grant held his hand out.

Sherlock shook his head. “I’m – I’m not very well. I need to ring my – John.” He could almost feel his pheromones wafting from his skin.

“I see,” Mr Grant was staring at him now, his eyes flicking to Sherlock’s neck, searching for a bond bite, then to his hand, where the engagement ring made him blink.

“Bye,” Sherlock turned to go when a hand closed on his arm. An alpha hand. Sherlock’s inner omega, currently rising, forced him to halt, to submit to this touch.

“I should…” his teacher’s voice had dropped very low. “I should walk you to the office.”

“No,” Sherlock said.

“I’m insisting.”

“No,” Sherlock pulled his arm away, turning to snarl – his first defensive omega snarl. The teacher took a step back, and Sherlock seized his chance, running down the corridors and skidding around the corner, grabbing one of the broken plastic chairs from the hall as he pelted through it, to the omega toilets again, where he locked the door and shoved the broken chair under the handle.

“Oh, shit,” he breathed, hands shaking as he took his phone out. “Shit, shit, shit…” he pressed the phone to his ear as the dial tone started for John’s number. “Come on, come on…”

 _Click_.

‘ _You’ve reached the voicemail of Doctor John Watson. Please leave a message –’_

“Where the fuck are you?” Sherlock tried again.

‘ _You’ve reached the voicemail of Doctor John –’_

“Shit!” Sherlock doubled over as a cramp hit him. Heat burned over his skin, and theurge to remove his clothes became more urgent. There were alphas in the building. They could smell him, and they’d find their way to this room… It was only bolted shut…

Swearing like a trooper, Sherlock climbed onto the sinks, opening the tiny window close to the ceiling. He could just about squeeze through, if he broke the latch. He shoved it, hard, and the latch gave way suddenly. Sherlock scraped his forearm on the window ledge, drawing blood, but climbed out of the window and dropped to the ground, rolling over in the flowerbed as he tried to stand.

Another cramp got him, this time accompanied by a dull ache that came from his backside and seemed to radiate out like fire. He groaned, staggering to lean on the wall, trying John’s phone again.

‘ _You’ve reached the voicemail of –’_

“Fuck you,” Sherlock pocketed the device, trying to think. “Have to get home. Get home, wait for John. John… that bastard, where the fuck is he?” Sherlock limped to the edge of the school grounds, climbing over the stone wall and dropping onto the pavement, aware he only had his phone and house keys on him.

He’d walk home, or run. It wasn’t that far –

The worst cramp yet hit him like a car, knocking the omega to the ground. He moaned, bring his knees up in agony as passers-by stopped to stare.

“No,” Sherlock grit his teeth and snarled at himself. “Get. Up.” He dragged himself upright, and scanned the street for a cab, a bus stop…

“You alright, kid?” a voice made him flinch, then relax slightly as he recognised – oh, _now_ he could smell the difference – a beta man standing just close enough to seem protective. “You having a heat?”

Sherlock nodded. “Need to get home.”

“You got any money?”

He shook his head.

“Here,” the man took out a £20 from his wallet, and placed it on the ground, under a stone. “Get home, kid, you look like you’re on the edge.” He backed off, and Sherlock snatched up the money.

“Thanks,” he nodded at the man, who didn’t leave, watching Sherlock hail a cab. The protectiveness of the beta was the only thing keeping Sherlock grounded at that moment.

A cab pulled up.

Sherlock wrenched open the door, and was immediately hit with the strong smell of alpha. “Oh, fuck… no.” He slammed the door before he could change his mind. “No, not you,” he waved at the driver to move on.

The driver leaned out the window, his eyes darkening. “Get in, omega, I’ll take you where you need to go.”

“Fuck off!” Sherlock spat, and the driver snarled, pulling away. “Oh god…!” Sherlock doubled over again. His arse cheeks felt damp, and he realised he was going to start leaking. He didn’t have _time_ for this.

“I could give you a lift,” the beta man on the pavement called. “If you feel safe to –”

“Yes,” Sherlock almost threw himself at him. “Yes, please.”

The man unlocked the car he was stood beside. “Where to?”

“Baker Street,” Sherlock crawled onto the back seat and whimpered, his cock starting to stiffen for apparently no reason.

“Got it.” The man started the car, and Sherlock curled up on the backseats, his whole body convulsing.

“Oh… oh, no… Uh!” Sherlock groaned, and his arse loosened in what he dreaded would be a bowel movement, but instead there was a gush of fluid from his body, soaking through his trousers. “Oh my god,” my covered his face. “Oh god, oh god, oh god…”

“Bloody hell,” the driver glanced back. “Don’t worry about it, kid, it’ll clean up.”

But Sherlock didn’t give a shit about the car upholstery. His entrance felt terribly empty, and open, and he was _aching_. “Uh…” his hand slipped beneath his waistband, past his arse, and he sank two fingers into himself without thinking about it. He moaned, rolling his head back on the leather.

“Nearly there, kid. You got anyone at home?”

“My mate…” Sherlock lied, pumping his fingers in and out of himself, wishing they were bigger. “My…”

“That’s good, then. Look, we’re here, can you see?”

Sherlock couldn’t see anything but a red haze. He scissored his fingers, shoving a third into himself, keening at the stretching sensation, but it _still_ wasn’t enough.

“Kid, get up, what number –”

“Two-two-one…” Sherlock moaned as he finger-fucked himself, no longer caring for his dignity. If he’d chanced the cab with the alpha driver… He could be begging for a knot, right now.

A knot…

Sherlock’s insides clenched around his fingers. That was what he needed. This useless beta couldn’t give it to him.

But John could.

The car drew up, and the beta wrenched Sherlock’s door open. “Oh my god… can you… stop that?”

Sherlock groaned as he pulled his fingers from himself, standing and shoving the beta out of the way as he went to the front door, fumbling with his keys.

To his credit, the beta man did stand and watch until Sherlock had slammed the door behind him.

Weeks later, the man would give a lift to his alpha colleague, who would spend the journey inhaling the scent of the backseats.

Sherlock undressed as he went up their stairs, dropping his shoes, jacket, shirt, trousers and underwear off before he even got into the lounge. No John.

He tried the number yet again.

‘ _You’ve reached the voicemail of Doctor John Watson. Please leave a message –’_

 _Beep_.

“I’m in heat, and you’re a fucking twat,” Sherlock snapped, ending the call. He dialled the walk-in centre’s direct number, then, panting as he lay on the sofa, sliding his fingers back into his aching hole.

“Bakerloo Walk-In Centre, how may I –”

“Need to speak to John Watson,” Sherlock puffed out, shoving his fingers deep inside, as more slick ran down his skin. “Now.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Watson isn’t here.”

“He’s supposed to be at work!” Sherlock snarled.

“Is this Sherlock?”

“Yes!”

“Sherlock, he went for lunch and didn’t sign back into the building. I’ll try and find him and get him to call you, shall I?”

“Yes,” Sherlock hung up, moaning into the sofa cushions as he slid his digits in and out. They weren’t long enough, weren’t thick enough… He took hold of his cock with his free hand, and worked it, quickly getting himself off with a cry, come splattering his chest.

There was a moment of relief.

And then it was like being set ablaze.

Sherlock’s insides clenched, and he roared in agony, slick gushing out of him impossibly. He kept on moving his hand, but it was a splash of water on a bonfire, and had little effect on his need.

He needed help.

Sherlock grabbed his phone and hit one of the other three numbers in it.

It rang twice.

“What’s this?” A plummy voice answered. “Calls at midday? Surely you haven’t been fighting yet again, brother –”

“Find John!” Sherlock shouted over his brother. “Find him!”

“You’re in heat,” Mycroft’s voice wobbled – actually wobbled, and Sherlock hissed at him.

“Don’t you dare come over, Mycroft. Find John. Find him. I… Oh, fuck!” he hung up as an orgasm caught him off-guard, sending him to the floor as he rutted into his returning hand, not getting nearly the amount of relief he craved. He let out a broken sob.

“John, where are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> American readers, I am so, so sorry about what's happening in your country. I wish there was something I could do, but all I can offer is distraction through fics. Good luck, my darlings.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV
> 
> John cluelessly waits around with Victor.

Amy was taken straight into surgery.

Victor half-collapsed into a chair in the waiting area, and John got them both coffees from the machine.

“For your nerves,” he handed it over.

“Thank you…” Victor took it, but didn’t drink. “Is – is she going to be ok?”

“She’s in the best place.”

“But is she going to be ok?”

John sighed. “Baby’s old enough to stand a good chance, if it has to be born now… Amy’s in good hands. Your mate’s going to be fine.”

“We had trouble from the start,” Victor sipped his drink. “Bleeding, and throwing up, and pains… She went on bedrest for a bit, and she got better… we were just going shopping for a pram…”

John’s heart ached, though he hardly wanted it to. Despite all the hurt he had caused, Victor didn’t deserve to lose a mate or a pup this way. If things has gone differently… this could be Sherlock on the surgeon’s table.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said suddenly. “For what happened. With Sherlock and me. I… I was just a kid.”

“You still are a kid,” John snorted. “Are you even seventeen?”

“Just,” Victor blushed. “Amy bit me, started my maturity. The doctors reckon I’ve lost a decade off my life with the rapid growth my bones had to go through. I get aches in my legs and stuff… It seems worth it when I see her face, though. I love her, Doctor Watson. I don’t want Sherlock. At all. I just want her…I want my mate, and our pup…” he sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his hand, looking terribly young.

“Excuse me?” a doctor knocked on the wall. “Mister Trevor?”

“Yes,” Victor looked up. “Is Amy –”

“We are taking Mrs Trevor down to theatre now,” the doctor said with a warm, comforting accent. “She will deliver the baby by C-Section. It looks as though the baby will need a little help with his or her breathing, so we will have team ready to help them as soon as they are out.”

“Do – do you need me there?” Victor croaked.

“No, Mrs Trevor will have a general anaesthetic, and we will come to tell you as soon as we know how the baby is.”

“Alright,” Victor nodded, and the doctor disappeared. “Shit. Oh, shit.”

“It’ll be ok,” John heard himself saying. “Victor, you need to hold it together. For Amy. Ok? She’s going to need her mate to look after her. Omegas need love at times like this. She will need you close for a long time.”

Victor nodded. “Ok. I – I can do that.”

John drained his coffee. “This isn’t how I thought my day was going to go.”

“I bet,” Victor half-smiled. “Sherlock at school?”

“Yes,” John sighed. “Maths test, today.”

“He was such a clever bugger,” Victor nodded. “Far too clever for his own good, sometimes –”

John growled in warning.

“- I just meant he did it without knowing. His cleverness. He didn’t _know_ he was clever, until he went to school, did he?”

“I suppose not. Privately educated, no real friends… You know, even though I kind of wanted to rip your throat out,” John saw Victor smirk, “I was grateful you were his friend. He never had anyone before you. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at what happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor said again. “I – I can’t even think of him like that, now. Bonding… erases that. What happened… I can hardly think about it. I just want my mate.”

John looked at the young alpha, at his trembling arms, his watery eyes. He looked vulnerable and scared.

If this was some sort of divine punishment, Victor Trevor didn’t deserve it.

A nurse came around the corner. “Are you alright, sir?”

“Yeah,” Victor forced out. “Fine.”

“And you are?” she looked at John.

“I’m… just a … friend,” John said, feeling as though that wasn’t completely a lie, anymore.

“Alright, then. Thank you,” she disappeared.

“Friends, is it?” Victor almost smiled.

“I’d rather have you as a friend than an enemy,” John sighed. “I don’t need enemies.”

“True enough.”

A nurse crossed the doorway, glancing in, rushing past.

“Be you and Sherlock next, I suppose,” Victor said. “Not here, but… babies.”

“Ha. We’ll see,” John laced his fingers together. “He’s not had a heat, yet.”

“And you’re far more noble that me to force him into one,” Victor winced.

“I am far more noble,” John nodded. “Thought it might be this week, actually. He was a bit off this morning, but I’ve not heard from him. He’ll probably come home with a stinking cold.” John went for his phone.

A vice gripped his ribcage.

“Shit,” he checked all four pockets. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He patted down his coat, his trousers again, standing to check the chair. “Oh, Shitting fuck.”

“Lost your phone?” Victor’s eyes went wide.

“Fuck,” John slapped his forehead. “I must’ve left it at work.”

“You’ll have to go,” Victor said.

John bit his lip. “I’ll ring him from the payphone. Just give me a second,” he fished some change from his pocket and dialled Sherlock’s mobile number.

_Brrr. Brrr. Brrr._

_Brrr. Brrr. Brrr._

_Brrr. Brrr. Brrr._

_You’ve reached the EE Messaging Service. To leave a message –_

John put the phone down and dialled the landline to 221B.

_Brrr. Brrr. Brrr._

_Hello, this is John and Sherlock’s flat. Leave a message after the –_

Nothing.

“He’s not picking up,” John came back over. “I don’t suppose you still have his number?”

“Amy made me block it,” Victor said apologetically. “Sorry. Look, I’ll be fine, go get your phone. You’ll only sit worrying –”

“Mr Trevor?” the doctor was back, a small smile on his face.

John relaxed a fraction.

“Yes?” Victor got to his feet.

“Congratulations, you have a baby boy. He’s been taken to the neonatal department, because he needs a little help with his breathing, but you’ll be pleased to know he cried when he was born. He’s very strong for being so little.”

Victor let out a sob, covering his mouth. “Amy?”

“Your mate is having stitches, and then she’ll be taken to recovery. Someone will fetch you when she’s on the ward,” the doctor nodded again, and Victor collapsed into his chair.

“Thank god. Oh… thank god.” He shook his head, looking at the ceiling. “Fucking hell.”

“Congratulations,” John grinned. “You’re a dad.”

“Shit,” Victor breathed. “Oh god,” he stood again. “I need… need to – ”

“Sit down,” John pushed his shoulders until his knees gave way. “You want to scent the baby, but he needs help, first. Let them look after him. The last thing your son needs is an angry alpha storming into his nursery.”

“Son,” Victor repeated. “God, that sounds very… real.”

“Get used to it,” John laughed. He shook his head. “You’ll be ok, if I go?”

“I will. Thank you, John,” Victor stuck his hand out. “You saved us. Thank you. I… I didn’t deserve your help.”

“Yes, you did,” John said. “Victor, if we all have to live by the mistakes we made when we were sixteen, the world would be a very grim place.” He shook the alpha’s hand. “Good luck.”

 

*

 

John got a cab back to the office.

Or, at least, to Euston, where the traffic ground to a halt. He paid the driver and got out, walking the rest of the way. He had the eerie sensation that he was being watched as he ducked through the crowds of tourists and shoppers, the cold biting through his thin jumper – he hadn’t had a coat with him when he got in the ambulance.

He was almost at the walk-in centre when a hand clamped down on his arm.

“The fuck –” he turned, defences up, staring in confusion at Mycroft Holmes’ murderous face. “Mycroft?”

“Where in the name of _hell_ have you been?” the alpha Holmes brother seethed.

“Hospital, with a patient,” John yanked his arm free. “So you were stalking me.”

“Which hospital?”

“St Mary’s.”

Mycroft tutted. “And yet they claimed not to know you were there.”

“I wasn’t there as a doctor, I was visiting, and what’s going on?”

Mycroft stared at him. “Sherlock.”

“Sherlock? What – ” all the blood in John’s body drained down, pooling in his feet. “Oh…”

“Indeed. Now get in the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, but next one will be... interesting.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John joins Sherlock for his heat.  
> Finally.

“How long?” John fidgeted on the leather seat.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “He called me just after noon. He was in considerable distress. I’m afraid he hasn’t been answering his phone since.”

“Six hours ago?! But he’s still in the flat?”

“I had two beta officers posted outside it to prevent him from leaving and putting himself in danger. You know that if you don’t get there soon, he will be driven to seek out _any_ alpha, beyond his own good reason?”

“Of course I know that!” John snarled, the thought making his hormones rage. “This isn’t exactly what I planned!”

“Forgetting your mobile was stupidly irresponsible,” Mycroft countered, his own alpha instincts making him defensive. “Witnesses on the street reported you as helping an omega, but there was no need for you to accompany her and her mate to the hospital.”

“It’s standard practice for a doctor to do the hand-over if they’re involved,” John countered. He looked out of the window, and took several deep breaths. “I suppose you want me to be grateful that you thought to try and find me at all.”

“Finding you wasn’t my idea,” Mycroft said. “Sherlock asked – well, told – me to.”

John looked around. “Sherlock told you to find me?”

“Yes.”

“He said that? Not – not help him, or find an alpha…?”

“His words were ‘find John’.”

John blinked, a rush of affection, tinted with lust, crashing over him. Sherlock wanted him. Sherlock had demanded him. Gone home to try and find him… Sherlock wanted to mate with him, bond with him, have his children… John let out a soft moan of longing.

“Try and control yourself until we arrive,” Mycroft sighed.

 

*

 

Sherlock sobbed, his trembling body curling into John’s duvet as he scented the sheets to try and take the edge off his feelings. His legs were sticky and wet from slick, his cock was hard again, and he had never felt so empty in his life. His insides ached from the first-time opening of his cervix, and it wasn’t even lust he felt – just an uncontrollable, animalistic _need_.

“John…” he whimpered into the covers, bringing his knees up so he was in a classic presentation stance, his entrance desperate for penetration, but Sherlock couldn’t even bring himself to finger himself much more, though he would. If left alone longer, he would. He’d need to. His body needed to be filled.

He had no idea how much time had passed. Minutes, hours, days..? Who knew? He was flitting in and out of reality, his mind focussing only on the real world for short bursts of time before it was screaming once more for a cock, a knot, a bite, a mate.

And none of them came.

A painful clenching of his insides brought the young omega around, and he groaned. He hunched further over, giving into the urge and sinking three fingers into his aching hole. His flesh cinched around them, and it felt momentarily good as he tried to find his prostate – John had been so good at that – but he just couldn’t reach as deep as he needed.

Howling with frustration, Sherlock withdrew his hand and kicked the covers off the bed.

He couldn’t wait for John any more.

If John wouldn’t come to him, maybe another alpha would.

Sherlock climbed up onto the side-table, and opened the tiny window at the top of the bedroom wall, letting the thick scents of fertile heat and drying omega come drift slowly into the street.

 

*

 

The car pulled up opposite 221B, and John stared in shock.

“What the…”

The street was in near-chaos. At least ten police officers and twenty men and women were brawling outside John’s flat and into the road. They were snarling, biting, clawing at one another as two beta officers stood, tasers in hand, defending the door to 221B.

“Oh god,” Mycroft looked. “Sherlock…”

“The window,” John pointed. “The window to my bedroom is open.”

“What a stupid boy,” Mycroft shook his head. He spoke to the driver. “Move. Drive as close to the flat door as you can. Slowly. If you have to hit people, I’d rather we pushed them out of the way rather than flattened them.”

“Yes, sir.” The car reversed, pulling out and towards the fight. As predicted, the fighting alphas moved aside, growling at the car and even trying the locked doors. It reminded John, horribly, of some sort of zombie movie.

“When you open the door, you’ll…” Mycroft swallowed, “you’ll be affected. You’ll have to move fast. Close that window, and…”

“Mycroft, I’m not going to hurt him,” John said, suddenly feeling short of breath. “He’s… obviously desperate…”

“He must be so…” Mycroft shook his head. “Get out now. I…”

“I know,” John’s fists were clenching. “Thank…” he opened the car door, and staggered.

The scent was coming straight from the window – come and heat and virgin and omega and fertility and unclaimed and oh sweet jesus it was a call to anyone who might have a nose.

“Doctor Watson?” One of the officers on the door yelled.

“Yes,” John forced himself back into the present.

The officers stood aside, and John unlocked the door. “If we could trouble you to close that window…”

“Sure,” John let himself in. “First thing on my mind.” He slammed the door behind him, putting the deadbolts on.

Then he reeled.

Inside, in the warmth of the flat, the scent was so thick it was like swimming in it. Six or seven hours of drawn-out, unsatisfied virgin heat had condensed in the air. Mixed with it were the scents of come, sweat, tears and slick.

John let out a moan of want. Shivers shot down his body, tingling over his skin as he gasped as the sudden tightness of his trousers, his cock hardening and thickening because there was an omega – Sherlock – here. An omega in heat. An unclaimed omega in heat, who needed his knot.

Sherlock, John tried to tell himself. Not just any omega. Sherlock. His Sherlock.

A broken cry came from upstairs, and John snapped.

He kicked his shoes off and tore up the stairs, shedding his coat and jumper as he did so, his nose leading him. In the lounge, he stopped and snarled at the obvious signs of the omega masturbating – come and slick on the floor, the sofa… How dare they not wait for him!

“Uhhh!” more moans came from the back of the flat.

John growled, shoving the kitchen chairs out of his way as he charged into his bedroom. His trouser buttons burst at the pressure from his thickening cock, as he saw what he’d been dreaming of for years.

Sherlock was face-down on the mattress, his legs spread wide, slick leaking out of his puckered pink hole. He was sweaty and dishevelled and twitching in obvious need. He also looked close to unconscious.

John dropped his trousers, releasing his erection at last, and giving himself a couple of strokes, the lubricating pre-come beneath his foreskin helping to draw the soft skin back. This omega… he was so beautiful. He was going to be John’s. Belong to him utterly. In mind, body and soul. He would be the mother of John’s children, his mate for life. John reached out and dragged a hand down the omega’s flawless back, to the wet cleft of his arse.

 

*

 

Sherlock stirred, his foggy brain forcing him awake. Someone was touching him. Touching him with certainty and want… it felt so good to have a hand running down his back…

“Oh,” he sighed, and the hand stilled at the top of his buttocks. “Don’t stop…”

“…Sherlock,” a faltering voice swam through his mind. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. “John?” He looked over his shoulder. At the alpha who had come for him. At John Watson. At the man he loved. “Oh, John!”

“Sherlock…” John climbed over him then, pressing him into the mattress, smothering Sherlock’s naked body with his own, crushing him close, and it was the closest thing to relief Sherlock could remember in his lifetime. There was a thick, heavy cock nestled in the cleft of his arse, and John’s strong arms around his chest, and this was what it was about. This was what it meant to have someone with you in heat.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry - ”

“Touch me,” Sherlock begged. “Please, John. I need you. Need your knot. Please…” He shuddered as his body responded to alpha proximity, more slick running down both of their intertwined legs.

“I know, love, just relax,” John held Sherlock close as he lay them both on their sides, taking hold of Sherlock’s topmost thigh, and lifting it to part his arse cheeks. The tip of John’s cock nudged the soaking, soft, opening flesh of Sherlock’s entrance, and they both moaned. “Oh, god,” John licked a stripe up Sherlock’s throat. “You’re everything.”

“Please,” Sherlock begged again, closing his eyes. It was happening. It was happening. John was going to bond with him. Oh, how he wanted it. His entire being, entire _existence_ needed this. Not just any alpha. Sherlock’s alpha. The one who loved him, and whom he loved back. Sherlock bent his neck over submissively. “I’m yours.”

John kissed Sherlock’s throat – hot kisses on sweat-cooled skin. And pushed inside him.

Sherlock gasped. The thickness of John’s cock was more than three of his own fingers had been. His entrance immediately burned, and his instinct was to bear down, to try and push the thick intrusion away, but that only made John slide further inside. And, somehow, that helped.

“Oh shit,” Sherlock grabbed John’s arm. “Oh, shit. Oh…”

“Shh,” John nuzzled the omega’s jaw and neck. Slowly, softly. “Just stay still, love. It’s ok.”

“Mm,” Sherlock nodded, his backside twitching with something halfway between desperation for more and panic for it to stop. “It’s so big…”

John gave a tiny laugh. “Flatterer… Breathe out, now, Sherlock. Through your mouth. Blow.”

Sherlock did so, his insides relaxing and bearing down as John’s hips rolled, his cock moving out and then deeper inside, over halfway inside the omega’s heat-slickened warmth. “Fuck,” John whispered, the language breathed over the shell of Sherlock’s ear like a promise.

“John…” Sherlock sniffed. “Please – please, move… I need…” his pleas gave way to gentle moans as John did as he asked. Slow, languid thrusts that pushed inside him just a little more each time. The burn at Sherlock’s entrance was gone, replaced by a different kind of heat – one that spread through him like a warm bath, instead of like fire. He relaxed, going pliant in John’s arms, welcoming the penetration, moving his body in the same rhythm, matching John’s motions, moving to meet his thrusts until John was seated completely inside him, and Sherlock could have wept.

“Mine,” John growled, low and rumbling against Sherlock’s skin. “My omega. My Sherlock.”

“Yours,” Sherlock nodded, a tear escaping. “Always yours, John… It’s so tight… Uh.”

John stroked down Sherlock’s chest, thumbing over the small erection, making Sherlock cry out. “Tight? You’ll know what tight is once I knot you.”

Sherlock shuddered. Not in fear, but in need. “Please…”

John held him, rolling him back onto his front, onto his knees, sinking impossibly deeper inside as Sherlock bent over, John’s cock pressing inside him, touching and rubbing against his prostate as they settled into this new, exposing position.

 

*

 

John stroked down Sherlock’s skin, to his hips, gripping him tight, feeling the tight and firm flesh under his fingers. His Sherlock, so tight around his cock. John’s knot was already starting to swell.

_Fuck. Mate. Breed. Bite Bond._

He had fought off the urge as he pushed inside Sherlock for the first time, but now his inner alpha was screaming for him to fulfil his purpose. And without pause, he pulled out of Sherlock’s tight, wet, heat, almost to his tip, and then slammed back inside.

Sherlock moaned, not in pain, but in the revelry of being claimed. “Yes!”

“Fuck,” John pulled Sherlock’s hips back as he thrust in again. “Fuck, yes, Sherlock…”

“John!” Sherlock bent down, resting on his elbows. John yanked him back again, the swollen head of his glans nudging Sherlock’s softened and ripe cervix with every thrust. The omega was tight, and hot, and so ready to be fucked that John drove forward hard, wetness soaking his pelvis as the slap of their joining flesh filled the room.

“Mine!” John roared, snapping his hips forward, his cock rubbing over Sherlock’s prostate so the omega’s arms started shaking.

“Your… John, please!” Sherlock wailed.

John reached around and stroked over Sherlock’s throbbing cock. Only two touches, and he was spilling in his hand, arse clenching around his cock even tighter than before. “Fuck…”

“Oh, no…” Sherlock’s eyes went wide as he felt the swelling at the base of John’s cock push inside him. “John… John, it’s too big…”

“My omega,” John breathed at Sherlock’s throat. “You’re mine.” He touched the omega’s flat stomach, feeling the push of his cock as he moved inside. “I love you.”

“God – please – need – ” Sherlock tried to back onto him, John’s swelling knot popping in and out of his stretched entrance, slick gushing out with every motion. He held his head to one side, exposing his throat, his scent gland, the smell hitting John in a fresh wave, tipping him over the edge as Sherlock moaned “Johnnnnn…”

“Sherlock – ” John thrust hard inside. His knot sank into Sherlock’s tightness, sealing them together. A flood of come left him, spilling into Sherlock, seeking out his womb.

And John sank his teeth into Sherlock’s neck.

 

*

 

Sherlock had read about bonding bites. Centuries of research, and they still weren’t fully understood. They were more than an outward sign of claiming, of having a mate. They were a spiritual bond, a tying-together of two people, unbreakable except through death. The love they caused was deep and unshakable.

But Sherlock didn’t care about that last part. He already loved John enough to spend every second of his life with him.

And yet, when John bit him, he couldn’t deny that something changed. He felt a swell of love, so intense he gasped. Something changed in his psyche – something he couldn’t put a finger on. John loved him. He always would. And it was as clear a fact as gravity.

John’s teeth loosened, and he licked and kissed at the bite mark. “I love you,” he said. “I love you. I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you, too,” Sherlock sighed, shuddering as more come shot inside him. “Uh… John…”

“Here,” John helped him to lie down, arranging their bodies and legs, as they would stay stuck together for at least twenty minutes. He kissed Sherlock’s bond bite again, licking off a line of blood. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Sherlock closed his eyes. “Doesn’t hurt.” He pulled John’s arm around him. “I’m your omega.”

“You always have been, really,” John kissed his hair. “Despite a few speedbumps.”

“Mm,” Sherlock nodded, eyes still closed. “Where were you?”

“It’s a long story. Do you want to hear it?”

“Not at the moment.”

John nodded, then laughed. “Oh, god.”

“What?” Sherlock opened one eye. John was shaking with laughter, now, looking above Sherlock’s head. “What is it?”

“I didn’t close the window,” John said. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care,” Sherlock smiled. “They’ll leave now, won’t they?”

“Yes, because you’re mine and I’m yours, and everyone will know it. Everyone will know that I love you, and you love me, and we’re mates for life. Always,” John held him close.

“Good,” Sherlock settled back down. “I do hate having to state the obvious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the epilogue.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter!

Sherlock’s first heat lasted only two days, but it was two days John wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

John woke on the first night, groggy, but snapping into wakefulness at the moonlight sight of Sherlock sliding himself down onto his cock, sighing in satisfaction. John’s cock breached the tight wetness of Sherlock’s body, being taken into that beautiful warmth effortlessly.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said, starting to slide up and down, his own erection bouncing as he moved. “No time to wake you up.”

“It’s ok,” John held onto Sherlock’s hips, guiding him into an easy movement that felt wonderful for both of them, Sherlock rolling his hips as well as moving up and down, looking down delightedly at John, as if he was pleased he could coax such noises from his alpha. “Oh, god.”

“John…” Sherlock let his head roll back, a droplet of sweat running down his sternum. “That’s so… So good…” His movements faltered as a drop of pre-come fell from his glans.

“I love you,” John thrust his hips up, and Sherlock let out a cry. John snarled possessively, holding Sherlock still as he drove up again, his aching cock stretching Sherlock’s depths and sending fiery pleasure over the both of them.

“God, yes… John!” Sherlock leaned forward, holding himself up, one hand on his cock, as John thrust into him, fucking his mate hard and fast. “Please…”

“Oh, fuck!” John’s knot was already swelling, pushing in and out of Sherlock’s tight hole, finally slipping past the muscular rim and stretching the young omega’s insides so both of them came, Sherlock spilling onto John’s stomach, and John flooding Sherlock with another load of come. John bit down on the broken skin of Sherlock’s neck again, drawing more blood, sealing their bond further as Sherlock sobbed in pleasure.

“I love you…” the omega sighed into John’s chest.

John stroked a hand down Sherlock’s back. “You’re going to end up pregnant. You know that?”

“It’s ok,” Sherlock kissed John’s collarbone. “I’ll get an after-heat pill.”

“If that’s what you want,” John nuzzled Sherlock’s bond bite, licking the wound softly.

“Mm,” Sherlock’s eyes were closing. “So… so full.”

“I know,” John cuddled him close. “This is as close as I’ve always wanted to get to you.”

Two days of sex left the two of them exhausted and half-asleep in the almost-midday sun. Sherlock was draped over John’s chest, his hair stuck to the side of his head, his stomach slightly distended from the amount of semen that had flooded his womb. Aside from that slight curve, Sherlock was all arms and legs, straight lines and bones. The bumps of his spine rested between John’s fingers.

They stayed like that until John eased out of bed, and went to run Sherlock a bath.

He checked himself in the mirror. He looked the same, but anyone with a nose would know he was a mated man. He had a mate – a stunning, perfect omega, whom he would do anything for. Would die for, if asked. He had loved Sherlock for a long time, but this surpassed love.

This was belonging, in body and soul, to another. More than words. More than sex. This was the mixing of souls, like paint on canvas.

John started the taps going.

“Hey, beautiful,” he came back into the bedroom and kissed the sore-looking bond bite on Sherlock’s neck. It made the omega flinch. John would patch him up and let it heal naturally. It would scar for the rest of Sherlock’s life, and far from being a blemish, would be the most perfect part of Sherlock’s body. A sign to the world that he belonged with his alpha. “Sherlock… You need to get up if you’re going to the pharmacy.”

“Mm,” Sherlock opened his eyes, keeping his head on the mattress. He lay on his stomach, his naked bottom pink and faintly bruised from all the pounding against it John had done. A shine of slick and come could be seen between the cheeks of his arse, and it was divine. “I was… thinking.”

“Thinking?”

“What if… I didn’t go?”

John’s heart skipped a beat. “Didn’t go?”

“What if I just left it,” Sherlock said quietly. “Just let… things happen.”

John sat down on the bed. He reached over and gave Sherlock’s damp curls a stroke. “It’s not my decision, Sherlock. It’s your body, your future, your schooling… It’s your choice, lovely.”

Sherlock smiled into the sheet. “I want… I want bubbles in my bath, please.”

“Sure,” John kissed his mate on the forehead, and went to pour in the mixture.

 

*

 

**Ten Months Later**

 

“Lestrade called,” John handed Sherlock a tea. “Wanted to know if you’re available for work again, yet.”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock sipped the scalding drink, putting it down quickly. “It depends on you, really, doesn’t it?”

“I’m only a month into my leave,” John pointed out. “I’ve got eleven more to have. A change of scenery would do you good, too.”

“Mmmaybe,” Sherlock dragged the word out as he shifted Amelie in his arms. “Did he say what he needed me for?”

“I believe he used the word ‘unsolvable’,” John smiled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Only by his standards.” He looked down at his baby. “I’ll text him in a bit.”

“Ok.” John reached over and put the cup of tea back in Sherlock’s hand. “Stay hydrated, at least.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock sipped again, the temperature better this time. “I should submit that essay as well… I could do it now, whilst she’s asleep.”

“Except you’re enjoying the cuddle,” John’s smile widened.

Sherlock scowled at him, then grinned back. “Maybe a little.”

John sat back and took in the sight. A seventeen-year-old omega, with his omega daughter in the crook of his arm, in their warm home. With him. “I never thought things would end up like this,” he said suddenly.

“This complicated?” Sherlock asked, looking up.

“No,” John came over and sat on the arm of the sofa, planting a kiss on Sherlock’s head before cuddling him. “No, I never thought things would end up this perfect.”

Sherlock blinked, as if he’d run out of smart things to say.

“I love you both, you know.”

Sherlock nodded. “We love you, too.”

 

 **If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;**  
**If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;**  
**If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster**  
**And treat those two impostors just the same…**

**_If_ ** **, Rudyard Kipling**

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, one and all, to everyone who has read and supported this fic. I can't believe it's nearly at 16,000 views - this is completely phenomenal and I can't tell you how happy this has made me. 
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